


Dead in Ohio

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Dead in Ohio [1]
Category: Glee, Zombieland (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, F/M, M/M, Multi, Puckurt Big Bang, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 93,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 28th, 2011: The news feed cuts out five hours after the first reports from Cincinnati and everybody has a choice to make. Every little decision counts in the zombie apocalypse, and right now, Puck seems to be the most rational decision-maker in the city of Lima. Kurt has to keep it together and learn new skills as he and Puck raid gun stores, stock up on supplies, and shoot zombies on their trek across Ohio's back roads. Down and to the right won't cut it when only headshots count. </p><p>Be an Asshole. Conserve your ammo. Follow the rules.</p><p>If this is the way the world ends, they're going out with a bang, not a whimper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: How They Died

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Śmierć w Ohio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1422850) by [carietta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carietta/pseuds/carietta)



> **Warning: This story contains extensive, graphic minor and major character death; graphic violence; violent, consensual bloody sex; gratuitous descriptions of firearms, thieving, and looting; situations that may imply dub-con and/or vore depending on reader interpretation; underage drinking and smoking; characters being non-consensually drugged. It's a zombie apocalypse; it's not a musical.**
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> Takes place within the Zombieland world, but does not contain character crossover.
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> Beta'd by [Knittycat99](http://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99).
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> [Downloadable fanmix](http://operous.livejournal.com/11261.html) by our awesome Puckurt Big Bang artist, etacanis.

  


Will doesn’t know what’s going on out there, but it certainly seems like they could use his help. They’ve already heard two accidents down on the street in front of their apartment complex, and no sirens yet. Emma’s got the television on and her cleaning bin out, polishing the silverware while she watches. He tells her he’ll be right back and kisses her; she starts to argue, but then her eyes turn back to the silver and she starts polishing again, muttering to herself.

He hasn’t been outside for long when he sees the crashed car and the woman slumped over the steering wheel, blood coming from her mouth and forehead. Will calls out to her, asks her if she needs help, and he’s sure he sees her twitch in response to his voice. He promises her he’s there to help her. He promises her that she’ll be okay. He opens the door of her car and as he leans across her to unfasten her seatbelt, she pulls him down into her lap, biting and biting and biting. 

 

He was listed as a MVA, but they brought him in restrained and seizing. His skin is cold and clammy, he’s bleeding from several wounds, and he turns his head to snap—literally snap his teeth—at the nurse trying unsuccessfully to take his vitals. Two orderlies help hold him down and when the nurse finally gives up trying to get a blood pressure reading on the obviously-broken machine, one of the orderlies yelps and pulls back his hand, bleeding from a bite mark. 

The riot starts about thirty minutes later, while Carole’s on her break, and she can barely hear Burt when she calls him on the phone. She runs to the nearest office, but before she can shut the door, Lucille rushes in with her. Carole slams the door and locks it, putting her arms around Lucille. The two of them sob, then Lucille goes quiet, shuddering in Carole’s arms. Before Carole can ask her what’s wrong, she feels Lucille’s teeth. 

 

Will went out over two hours ago and hasn’t come back, and he won’t answer his phone. The television live news cut out, the radio stopped broadcasting, and when Emma tries Will’s phone one more time and it says ‘no signal’, she knows she’s truly alone. There’s a plague outside, infecting everyone in Ohio, and she’s alone.

She dons her rubber gloves, then takes a pair of sterilized scissors and starts cutting garbage bags down their sides, spreading them over the bed as she goes and taping them together. When the bedspread is thoroughly covered, Emma puts on her favorite yellow suit and the floral brooch she inherited from her grandmother. She changes the gloves out for a fresh pair, then takes every single pill in her bottle of Ambien before lying down on the plastic-covered bed. 

She’s done all she can to keep things clean.

 

Burt runs through the hospital halls, gun in one hand, tire iron in the other. He’s never been a man who liked hurting people, but he’s increasingly sure these aren’t _people_ —and even if they are, he’ll keep telling himself they’re not so he can keep hitting them with the tire iron and find his wife. As he runs, he screams for Carole, but there’s no way she could hear him, not over the noise.

The floor is slick with blood, bodies lie sprawled in corners and against doors, and the formerly white walls have red handprints across them. Burt can hear them behind him now, a group of those _things_ , whatever they are, and he’s just rounding a corner when his foot hits a pool of blood and his legs go out from under him. His head hits the floor and then they’re on him.

 

Mike wakes up late, goes for a run, and then takes a nap, because he’s not quite ready to say the summer’s over, even though he’s technically four days into his senior year. The television alternates between CNBC and HLN, like it usually does when his dad has the remote—which is most of the time—but all Mike really picks up on is that there is some new infectious disease that the CDC may or may not be concerned about. He’s in the kitchen getting a snack when he hears his mom scream. 

Mike looks out from the kitchen to see two people walking in through the front door. His first thought is that it’s a home invasion, but then he thinks that they look sort of homeless. He turns back to his sandwich and takes the last bite. Maybe if he offers them some food, they’ll leave? He’s standing in front of the cabinet when he feels the teeth on his neck.

 

Artie and his parents always wince at the sound of a collision. When there’s a solid boom followed in short succession by two more, there’s no question in Artie’s mother’s mind what should be done: she immediately directs Artie’s dad to bring one of the injured women into the house. The ambulances stopped responding hours ago, after all, and once the injured woman is lying on their couch, Artie locks the door. 

His mom starts to scream just a minute later, and in his dad’s panic, Artie’s knocked from his wheelchair. If he had more time, if he had even a little bit of muscle control in his legs, maybe he could have climbed back into the chair. Instead, he doesn’t even feel his legs get slowly consumed. 

 

It’s been a week, maybe a day more or less, since Mercedes and her parents decided they’d swing by the mall after lunch to finish the rest of Mercedes’ back to school shopping. They didn’t turn on the radio on the way and it wasn’t until the security guards started running around locking the doors that the Joneses even knew something was wrong. The power’s been off for days now, and they’ve run out of food, and the monsters outside are banging on the doors harder and harder.

The group of them huddles together in the middle of the mall, some fifteen or so shoppers plus the four guards and a few people from the shops. It’s dark and it smells like unwashed bodies, and all Mercedes really wants is a shower and a pop and a night in her own bed, but instead she clings to her mom and they pray. They hear a crash as the glass doors shatter and then the monsters flood in. Mercedes can’t see them, can’t find her mom’s hands, but everyone is screaming. They’re screaming, and Mercedes is screaming, and she feels hands and claws and teeth on her and the darkness closes in. 

 

The loneliness is the worst thing. Lauren had plenty of food to make it through the winter—the idiots who decided to panic instead of stockpiling deserve what they got—and the little kerosene heater kept the storage unit from getting too cold. Sure, she had to keep the door cracked while she ran it, but once it was warm, she could turn off the heater, close and lock the door, and huddle in her coat in her sleeping bag. It wasn’t a party, but it beat dying. It beat being bitten and turned into a zombie, too.

Now that it’s starting to warm up, though, she’s ready for a change of scenery. She hasn’t seen a zombie for months, not since the first heavy snow fell, and maybe that means it’s all over. She straps on her gun and grabs the ax, and she’s off down the streets of Lima, looking for a likely store to hit to restock her supplies. The sunlight is warm on her face and the little splashes of color, crocuses peeking up through the melting snow, give Lauren a feeling of hope like she hasn’t had in months and she smiles. She’s still smiling when the zombies find her, and then there’s just not much left of her to smile. 

 

Brittany hears her mother calling her. Santana says she doesn’t hear it, but Brittany knows she does. Brittany’s mother is so loud and Brittany has to find her. She waits until Santana is asleep and then she dresses quietly in the dark, putting on her Cheerios uniform so her mother will recognize her. She looks so different now, and her mother might be confused.

The snow piles up in drifts around the tent, and as Brittany wades out into it, it comes up to her knees. It’s cold above her stained and torn white sneakers, but her mother is calling her, so she keeps walking. The wind blows up the bottom of her skirt, just like in the poster of that actress that looks like fat, young Madonna, and Brittany laughs. She can hear her mother laughing, too, and then her father, and then Quinn. It’s been such a long, long time, but they found her. They finally found her.


	2. Chapter 2

When Kurt comes into the living room, Finn’s on the sofa watching one of those found-footage horror movies on the tv. Apparently it’s meant to be one of the “dropped camera” shots, because the picture is sideways, a smear of red on the lens. At first, it’s just asphalt and a burning car on the screen, then a woman in a nicely-tailored turquoise suit enters the frame, dragging herself along on a badly broken ankle. Shortly before she passes from the camera’s view, she turns; half her jaw is missing, the front of her suit stained with gore. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little early in the day for zombie movies, Finn?” Kurt sighs, with an affected shudder that Finn can’t actually see, but Kurt still enjoys practicing. “I thought you liked to save those for after dark, because it ‘makes it about twenty times scarier’.”

“Dude,” Finn answers, his voice a strange mix of confusion, annoyance, and something else that Kurt can’t quite identify. “It’s the _news._ ”

“The news, Finn? _Really?_ ” Kurt shakes his head, and Finn looks so offended that Kurt starts to laugh. Later, this is what Kurt will always remember about the beginning of the end of the world. Laughing.

The news feed from Cincinnati cuts out shortly after noon, the West Chester affiliate disappears from the air by one-fifteen, and by two, when the anchors try to go to their reporter on scene in Franklin, all they get is static. The footage on the screen now is from an intern operating a handheld camera, broadcasting from five stories up in an office building in Dayton, and the scene below is grim. 

Kurt, Burt, and Finn sit closer together on the sofa than Kurt can ever remember. He probably hasn’t sat this close to his dad since childhood, but something about having Burt’s strong arm around his shoulders makes this all a little more bearable. From the look on Finn’s face, Kurt suspects he feels the same about Burt’s grip on _him_. Somehow, what they’re seeing on television makes it okay to let Burt be the adult, let him try to makes sense of all of this for them, not that there’s anyway this could ever actually make sense.

“Maybe...” Finn begins, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Maybe it’s just some kind of hoax. Like, a prank or something, like that _War of the Worlds_ thing.” 

“Finn, son. It’s on every channel,” Burt explains. His tone is soothing, and Kurt remembers the way Burt used to talk to him like that when he was about to pull a splinter out of Kurt’s hand. It’s the voice that means something painful is happening, but that freaking out won’t make it hurt any less. 

“Maybe they’re all in on the hoax?” Finn sounds so hopeful. 

Kurt looks at Burt, and the two of them stare at eachother for a moment, before Burt finally sighs. He pats Finn on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid,” he says gently. “It’s happening. I don’t know what it is or why, but it’s happening.”

Finn doesn’t say anything in response, just slumps in his seat and lets Burt keep patting him as they watch footage of a large group of people pulling a family out of a minivan on the street below. After about forty-five seconds, the camera jerks sharply back, and the screen is filled with nothing but sky before the feed cuts out and the picture on the tv goes black. 

When Burt’s phone rings, the three of them startle, Finn reacting so severely that he knocks Burt over into Kurt. Burt fumbles in his pocket for three rings, and manages to answer the call just before it goes to voicemail. 

“What? Carole?” Burt raises his voice. “I’m trying to hear you honey, but it’s... there’s _what_? A _riot_?” His eyes dart back to the dark television screen. “Carole, listen to me. Go to an office. _Any_ office, so long as it’s empty. _Empty_ , you got me? Lock yourself in. Lock yourself in and don’t let anybody inside, no matter what they say, or how much they beg you, got it? I’m coming to get you.” He ends the call and shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Boys, I—”

“No, Dad. I understand,” Kurt says, quickly. “Go get Carole.”

“You boys stay in this house, you understand?” Burt says, already rising to his feet. “Don’t let anybody in. Don’t answer the door. Lock up behind me.” He jogs up the stairs and Kurt can hear him rummaging around, things hitting the ground, before Burt reappears with a shotgun and a handgun. He looks at Kurt, then Finn, then back to Kurt. “I’m leaving the shotgun. Finn?” Finn doesn’t respond immediately, so Burt repeats, louder, “Finn!”

Finn blinks and seems to rouse from his shock or stupor. “What?”

“Here.” Burt hands Finn the shotgun. “I figure you’re the least likely to fall over if you have to shoot this thing. Kurt can explain how it works. I have to go get your mom. God willing, I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” 

Finn nods, and Kurt says, “Go! Go get Carole!” Burt grabs first Finn, and then Kurt in a hard hug.

“I love you, Kurt. Finn. You two boys look after each other until I get back. You hear me? You look after each other!”

“We will, Dad. Just go!” Kurt insists, and Burt’s out the door before Finn can finally muster up his answer.

“But why do I have to use the gun?”

  


  


**Puck’s Rules of Zombie Survival, #1: Make every tool a multipurpose tool.**

Everything in the duffel has at least two uses. Everything except the food, unless Puck counts ‘coming out as shit’ as a second use, and he doesn’t. Food keeps your stomach from growling, though, and it keeps you alive, so maybe that counts. The rope, the switchblade, the clothes, those are all obvious. Even the gas can, ‘cause if Puck has to fry one of these creepy undead motherfuckers, he will. That’s why the lighter in his front pocket is multipurpose: it could light a fire, light a zombie, or light one of the five Cubans that he left behind, because a fucking Cuban cigar isn’t a tool. 

The rifle’s only got one purpose, though: to kill the fucking zombies.

  
  


Finn jumps again when the doorbell rings, and Kurt decides in that instant that jumpy Finn is only a marginal improvement over shocked and barely responsive Finn.

“Finn, calm down. I doubt those things on tv ring doorbells,” Kurt says, heading to the front door.

“Burt said don’t open the door!” Finn insists. “He says don’t let anybody in.”

“I’m looking through the peephole, Finn,” Kurt sighs, doing just that. Kurt can’t say exactly who or what he expected to find on the front stoop, but Noah Puckerman with a large duffel bag slung across his back, a rifle in his hand, and rope tied across his chest like a beauty pageant winner’s sash? That probably wasn’t it.

“What is it?” Finn asks. “Is it a... thing from tv?”

“Only if they look like Puck now,” Kurt says, undoing the deadbolt. “I’m letting him in.”

“Burt said—”

“Finn Hudson,” Kurt hisses. “I _know_ what Dad said, but I’m not letting Puck die on our front stoop. Besides, he has another gun.” With that, Kurt unlocks the front door and opens it just a crack, and says, “You’re still a normal human being, correct?”

“I’m just as big of an asshole as I was yesterday. You two aren’t zombies, either, so lemme the fuck in,” Puck replies, sticking his foot in the door and trying to push it farther open. “C’mon, I haven’t seen one of the fuckers around here, but I don’t want to while I chill on the porch.”

Kurt opens the door enough for Puck and all his various items to make into the house, then he quickly closes it, locking and deadbolting it behind them. Now that Puck is safely inside the house—as safely as anyone can be at the moment—Kurt takes a moment to assess all the various bags and items hanging from Puck. The duffel bag looks like military issue and appears to be packed as full as possible, a full gas can swings from the rope across Puck’s chest, and he cradles the rifle to his chest.

“Did you walk here?” Finn asks, finally. 

“Kinda had to, didn’t I?” Puck snorts. “Burt and Carole try to go out in this shit?”

“My mom’s at work,” Finn says quietly. “She’s at work at the hospital.”

Kurt glances at Puck, who’s staring at Finn with a disconcerting expression on his face. “My father went to get her,” Kurt explains, using that gentle tone Burt had used with Finn earlier. “I’m sure they’ll both be back soon.” 

The look of worry on Puck’s face deepens. His mouth twists to one side and his eyes flicker between Kurt and Finn. “Right.” He nods once, sharply, looking at Finn. “Yeah, dude, they’ll be back soon. In the meantime, I bet they’d like to come back and know how much food’s here. You know?”

“I’m not sure anyone’s going to have much of an appetite,” Kurt says, frowning. “We could try and find something for dinner, though. I’m sure there’s something in there we could throw together.”

“Yeah, sure, we can cook for now,” Puck says almost dismissively. “But I meant inventory, Kurt.”

Kurt stops himself before he rolls his eyes, but only barely. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? This... whatever it is. It won’t last. They’ll send the National Guard or the Army in to manage things.”

Puck doesn’t extend the same courtesy, though, because he rolls his eyes at Kurt. “I’d rather be ‘overreacting’ than underprepared.” He steps closer to Kurt and lowers his voice. “Look at your brother. He needs something to do.”

Kurt does look over at Finn, who is watching the two of them with too-wide eyes. His color isn’t good, too pale with a purple tinge around his eyes. He looks like someone in shock, which probably isn’t far from the truth. Kurt turns back to Puck and nods, before saying, in the most upbeat voice he can muster, “Finn! Let’s go count some canned goods, shall we?”

Finn responds too slowly, but he does eventually nod. “Yeah. Yeah. We should do that.”

“Anything specific we’re looking for?” Kurt asks Puck. “Should we put everything on the counter?”

“Yeah. Cook the frozen stuff. Take pop out of the fridge, it still tastes okay warm. I’m gonna go look in your garage.” Puck frowns. “Canned meat, anything with vitamin C.”

“We don’t have any canned meat,” Kurt says apologetically, though he’s not exactly sure why he owes Puck an apology for that. 

“Tuna? Canned salmon?” Puck sighs. “All right, fine, beans at least?”

“We have pouches of tuna. Will that work?” Kurt offers. 

Something changes in Puck’s eyes but his facial expression doesn’t shift. “Yeah, yeah, those are good,” Puck nods, then turns and walks toward the garage. “You guys got a machete?” he yells back after a few seconds pass. 

“Kitchen knives?” Kurt yells back. “Spread those out, too?”

Puck groans loudly. “Never mind.”

“Well,” Kurt says to Finn, “I suppose we’ll just take that as a ‘no’ and carry on, shall we? Come on, Finn. Let’s do this before Puck gets back from the garage.” Finn nods mutely and follow Kurt into the kitchen. The two of them make surprisingly short work of the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer, and Kurt assigns Finn to the task of sorting the various cans, bags, and boxes by type, while Kurt starts cooking the two pounds of lean ground beef that’s thawing in the fridge. 

Puck reappears, this time carrying a shovel and a hoe. “Your garage is shit, dudes. Didn’t you ever think about the apocalypse before today?”

Finn blinks slowly and looks between Kurt and Puck, like he’s hoping Kurt will interpret for him. Kurt purses his lip and exhales once through his nose before answering, “No, I’m afraid it wasn’t a priority for us, considering those... _things_ on tv aren’t supposed to exist.”

Puck huffs and then shrugs. “What can you do, I guess.” He leans against the wall and looks at the food. “Okay, put the peas back. Keep all the jelly out. We’ll sort out the rest of it later.”

“Not a fan of peas, I take?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow. “I happen to like them.”

“Low nutrition. Jelly’s got sugar and vitamin C.” Puck shrugs. “It’s like camping, only long-term.”

“I think Kurt’s idea of camping is a hotel without free breakfast,” Finn suddenly pipes up. He starts laughing, then seems to remember the situation is supposed to be serious, and clamps his hand over his mouth. 

“Camping’s better than eaten, right?” Puck walks over to the stove and picks up the spoon and pokes at the ground beef. “Yeah, this’ll keep for a few days, anyway. Got any cheese? We should eat it, too.”

While Puck is helping himself to the beef, Finn mouths “eaten?” to Kurt, who just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Nobody’s getting eaten,” he assures Finn. “The power is still working fine. There’s no reason to even think the power grid will go down before they mobilize troops.” He crosses his arms to indicate that the discussion is over. “And the only cheese we have is low fat and low sodium.”

Puck makes a face. “Better than no cheese. I guess.” He lets go of the spoon while it’s still sitting in the skillet. “No troops coming, though.” He levels a steady glare at Kurt, then shakes his head slowly. 

“Of course they’re coming. Why wouldn’t they?” Kurt asks, pushing Puck away from the skillet. 

“Are they really _eating_ people?” Finn blurts out. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Puck says through gritted teeth. “And I don’t know, Kurt. Maybe because the troops are either zombies or eaten themselves?”

“You keep saying that word,” Kurt says. “And that’s absurd. I don’t know what’s going on out there, if it’s some kind of plague or riots, but what you’re saying is ridiculous. Maybe they’ll quarantine the area, maybe even the state, but this can’t be everywhere. It only started this morning!”

Finn’s eyes get even wider, if that’s possible, but the shock seems to be fading, replaced with a look of grim resolve. He turns slightly away from Kurt, talking directly to Puck. “How bad out there, dude?”

“It’s bad,” Puck says, staring at Finn. “ _Bad_ , but it’ll get worse. Like your brother said, the power’s still on right now.”

“Phones are still working, too,” Finn says, nodding. “I talked to Rachel earlier. She and her dads were holed up at her place. I think LeRoy was hiding under the piano.”

“Finn, Puckerman, _listen_ to yourselves! You sound insane!” Kurt insists. 

“Then you can laugh if we’re wrong, and I’ll buy you dinner for a week.” Puck shakes his head. “When you’re wrong, I’ll do you the favor of not saying ‘I told you so’.”

Before Kurt can argue, his phone rings with Burt’s tone. Kurt has the phone out of his pocket and to his ear almost immediately. “Dad?”

Burt’s voice is hard to make out over the background noise and static. Kurt thinks he hears gunfire—or possibly an explosion—and screams. Lots of screams. “Kurt? Kurt, you there?”

“I’m here! Dad, I’m here! Are you coming home?”

“Kurt, I—” The phone crackles, cutting Burt off momentarily. “—with your brother.”

“Dad! Dad, I can’t understand what you’re saying!” Kurt looks up at Finn, who's chewing on his lip, looking troubled. "Dad! When are you coming back?”

“—than we thought,” Burt continues. “We can’t...Kurt, you still there, buddy?”

“Dad, just tell me you’re on your way home,” Kurt pleads. He glances over at Puck, who just looks resigned and not at all surprised. “Dad, please.”

“Stay with your brother, alright? Stay with Finn,” Burt says. “You two have to look after each other, Kurt. You’re _family_ —”

“No, Dad. _No_. You are my family. You have to come home now.”

“Kurt, kiddo. I love you, okay? Tell Finn—” but Burt is cut off then. The line goes dead.

“Tell Finn what, Dad? What do I tell Finn?” Kurt squeezes the phone, like he can make it work again. “Dad. _Dad!_ ” When no answer comes, Kurt sinks to the floor, phone still pressed to his ear. “Please, Dad. Answer me. Dad?”

“Kurt, what happened?” Finn asks. “What’d he say? When are he and my mom coming back?”

Kurt can’t respond to Finn, and he can’t put down the phone or make himself stop saying “Dad? Dad?” into it, even though he knows he’s not going to get an answer. Finn gets down on the floor, with his face right in Kurt’s face.

“Kurt, you have to tell me what he said! You have to tell me if he found my mom! Kurt!” Finn takes Kurt by the shoulders and shakes him roughly. “You’ve got to tell me what we’re supposed to do now!” Kurt starts shaking his head, phone still in his hand, hand still to his ear. “Dammit, Kurt, you have to tell me what Burt said!”

“Okay, okay,” Puck says, squatting down beside them. “Finn, stop. Kurt, give me the phone. You can try again in a few minutes. Maybe the circuits are overloaded. Finn, the beef is burning. Turn the stove off.”

Kurt feels the phone being gently pried from his fingers. He doesn’t fight it, but he doesn’t really relax and let it happen, either. He watches Finn fiddle with the knobs on the stove and move the pan, but he can’t make himself get up off the floor. Once the pan is moved, Finn stands in the center of the kitchen.

“I’m going to get Rachel,” he announces.

“No, we have to go get _Dad_ ,” Kurt says. “We have to drive to the hospital and find him. We need to do it right now, and we can get Rachel on the way back.”

“No one’s going to get anyone,” Puck declares. “We’ve got food, we have weapons, and for the moment, we have power. Going out into that? Is a dumbass move.”

“My dad is out there,” Kurt nearly snarls, finally finding the motivation to stand up from the kitchen floor. “And Carole. We are going to get my dad and we are going to do it _now_.”

“If they’re alive, they’ll get back. You’re not stupid, or at least that’s what I thought.” Puck shakes his head. “What did your dad actually say you should do?”

“What is wrong with you?” Kurt says. “Why are you even here, Puck? Don’t you have your own family to worry about?”

Puck turns a stony glare on Kurt, and Finn says, his voice low, “Dude, do you think he’d be here if there was anything he could do for them?”

“Oh. Oh, Puck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“Yeah, what did Burt tell you, Kurt?” Puck repeats, voice even. 

“He said...” Kurt swallows and takes a deep breath. “He said to stay with Finn. He said we have to look after each other.” He looks at Finn and tries to smile, but can’t quite manage it. “He said he loves us.”

“Alright, so. So, we... we go get Rachel, and then we come right back here,” Finn says, nodding his head. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll all go and get her and her dads, and we’ll come back here and wait for Burt and Mom.”

“No.” Puck shakes his head. “No, we don’t fucking leave a safe place when we have no idea what it’s like out there, just to get Rachel. She and her dads could come here.” He gestures towards the window. “No, you’re not dragging us all to get your girlfriend. Sorry, dude.”

“But Hiram and Rachel don’t drive, and LeRoy’s having some kind of breakdown,” Finn explains. “We have to go get them. They can’t drive here. We can be there and back in like twenty minutes, dude. Come on.”

“They’re safe if they’re holed up. The roads were already a little crazy when I walked over. No, okay? It _sucks_. I get it. But no.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Finn says, his volume rising. His eyebrows are furrowed and he clenches his fists at his sides. “I’m going to get Rachel. I love her, she’s scared, and Kurt and me are going to get her.”

Puck throws his hands up in the air. “Fine. Go get yourself eaten for your girlfriend. Go for it. Count me out.”

“Yeah?” Finn counters. “Well, good. That’s great. Burt didn’t say to stick with you. He said for me and Kurt to stick with each other, so _fuck_ you, dude. We’re leaving.”

“Finn,” Kurt says, putting up his palms, like he can somehow calm everyone down that easily. “Finn, maybe Puck’s right. I think Dad wanted us to stay here, and what if he comes looking for us and we aren’t here? What do we do then?”

“It’s just twenty minutes, Kurt!” 

“You’re not going to make it in twenty minutes!” Puck interjects. “And you’re going to get attacked by these fucking zombies and then Burt’s really gonna wonder where you fucking are!”

“Fine!” Finn screams. “I see how it is! You two have it your way. I’m going to get my girlfriend and I’ll be back in twenty minutes, and if I’m not, I doubt the two of you even give a shit!” With that, he shoves Puck out of his way and marches towards the garage. 

Kurt stands there, frozen, staring after Finn, unable to say anything. He hears the garage door open and the sound of Finn’s truck starting. It’s not until the garage door starts to close that he finds himself running towards the front door, fingers fumbling with the deadbolt, screaming, “Finn! Finn! Wait! Finn!”

Puck’s arms wrap around him, hauling him away from the door, and Puck almost flings Kurt against the wall. Puck checks the deadbolt and then grabs Kurt again. “Stupid! You’re not stupid, why are you acting so goddamn stupid!”

“Finn!” Kurt keeps screaming, struggling against Puck. “Let go of me! Finn! Finn! Come back!”

“You can’t get him back!” Puck yells in Kurt’s face. “He made his stupid choice. Make a fucking smart choice, Kurt!”

Kurt takes a deep, shuddering breath, but stops fighting. “Dad said to stay together. That’s what Dad said we were supposed to do,” Kurt whispers. 

“Bet he didn’t say to collect the living residents of Lima here,” Puck counters. “Did he?” Kurt shakes his head. “Okay, then.”

**Puck’s Rules of Zombie Survival, #2: Don’t let stupidity kill you (before the zombies get a chance).**

The fundamental thing about zombies is that they’re not alive. They want to eat brains—and the rest of a human body—but they aren’t using theirs. They don’t think, they just shuffle and try to eat more people. So as long as Puck is thinking, as long as anyone still alive is thinking, the zombies are at a disadvantage. The worst thing that can happen is being stupid, reacting instead of acting, and treating the situation like it’s just all going to go back to normal. Even if the zombies stopped suddenly, the world’s never going to be fucking normal again, so the quicker everyone lets go of that stupid idea, the longer they’re going to be able to play hide and seek with the undead.

  
  


Kurt isn’t sure how long Puck keeps him pinned against the wall, but even after Kurt stops screaming for Finn and trying to get away, Puck doesn’t let him go yet. It should be many things—infuriating, insulting, maybe even frightening—but ultimately, Kurt mainly feels strangely comforted, even a little relieved. Finn shouldn’t have left; Kurt knows this, and he also knows he was being exactly what Puck said: stupid. Puck, at the very least, seems to have to sense to _not_ do something stupid, and for whatever reason, he’s extending that to keeping Kurt from doing something stupid. Instead of being pissed, Kurt feels like he’s won some sort of disaster film jackpot.

Somehow, he’s ended up in the quasi-good graces of someone with at least moderately decent survival skills. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt finally says. His voice cracks slightly, and he realizes how dry his throat is, and how much it hurts. He hadn’t realized just how loud and long he screamed, but apparently it was both very loud and very long. “You’re right. Thank you."

Puck nods and slowly steps back. “Go get some water. Shit, I’m an idiot. Pull out all the containers you have that can hold water, and let’s plug up the bathtubs.”

“Why do—yes, alright. I’ll go do that,” Kurt says, shaking his head to clear it. “Sinks, too?”

“Yeah, sinks too. Dunno how long we’ll have uncontaminated water, right?”

“Right,” Kurt echoes, though until Puck said it, it hadn’t occurred to him that water, like power and phones, could be cut off. If what Puck says is true—and Kurt is becoming more and more convinced that Puck actually knows exactly what he’s talking about—and the Army isn’t coming, soon everyone will be without electricity, water, food. If it’s bad out there now, how bad will it be then?

Kurt and Puck move through the house silently, stoppering the sinks and tubs and running the water. Kurt starts pulling out all of Carole’s Tupperware, all the sports bottles and jugs and pitchers he can find, and fills them one by one in the kitchen sink. Finally, he runs out of containers, and various bowls and bottles line the counters and cover a good portion of the kitchen floor.

“Well, we should eat,” Puck pronounces, looking at the skillet of beef. “You said there was cheese? Anything like sour cream, tomatoes, that kind of thing?”

Kurt nods. “We have fat free sour cream and I think Carole bought a carton of cherry tomatoes. They’d be in the crisper drawer if Finn—” He cuts himself off abruptly and sighs. “If they haven’t been eaten. I didn’t even look in that drawer when we were pulling out the food, because that’s all perishable.”

“Right, well. Taco time!” Puck says with fake enthusiasm. “We drink water from the tap until it smells funny, looks funny, or the lights go out.”

“Tacos it is, then,” Kurt says. He starts moving the canned and boxed goods off the kitchen table, stacking them neatly on the floor around the various containers of water, then he sets the table with Carole’s good china and the real silver. Kurt adds a pair of the crystal wine glasses, then asks Puck, “White or red?”

Puck kind of snorts a little. “Either already open?”

“Both. Should I just put both of them on the table?”

“Hell, why not,” Puck agrees, taking a seat. Kurt puts the half-full bottle of pinot noir and the mostly-full bottle of chardonnay on the table, then sits down and pours himself a glass of the chardonnay.

“I’m not sure this is the right pairing for tacos,” Kurt apologizes. “We don’t have any beer.”

Puck shrugs and pours himself a glass of pinot noir and then raises it. “To the end of the world.”

Kurt touches his glass to Puck’s. “I’m still holding out hope that you’ll owe me a week of dinners.”

“And I’ll be happy to pay for it in that case,” Puck says wryly. “I even promise none of ‘em would be fast food.”

They eat their dinner in relative silence, other than the sound of utensils scraping against plates and the unnecessarily loud noise of Puck’s chewing. Kurt didn’t realize he was even hungry until he started eating, so he’s surprised when he looks down at the bowl of ground beef and discovers it’s almost empty, and that the block of cheese is down to one small chunk. Kurt quickly washes the dishes and places them in the drying rack, while Puck walks through the house, peering out windows, and finally starts digging through the coat closet. 

“What are you looking for?” Kurt asks, drying off his hands and wandering out into the hall. Outside, the sky is starting to turn pinkish, and Kurt realizes he never tried to call Burt back, and that Puck still has his phone.

“Anything useful,” is Puck’s reply, and there’s a small pile outside the closet of items that Puck has apparently deemed useful: a few old towels, another canteen, his dad’s down parka, and a metal baseball bat. 

“It’s August,” Kurt says. “How is Dad’s parka useful?”

“We’ve had snow as early as October,” Puck says, sitting back on his heels. “We got to figure out a long-term plan, Kurt. Your house is good for a day, tonight, but it’s not defensible long-term. We’ll want winter gear with us.”

Long-term. Kurt can barely think beyond this immediate moment, but Puck’s planning for the winter. “How are you doing this?” Kurt suddenly asks. “How are you keeping it together and planning like this?”

“My old man used to rant about the government, before he left,” Puck begins slowly. “Used to tell me how there’d be a day when the government would shut down the grid and it’d be every man for himself. I don’t think the government did this, but. You watch a few documentaries on PBS about Spanish flu and Ebola and shit, and it don’t take much to realize that we don’t need anyone to do it on purpose.” He shrugs. “I remembered my dad’s rants. And hell, Kurt, I’ve only got two things left to lose.”

“What two things?” Kurt asks. Kurt has so many things to lose, the idea of only having two seems either desperately sad or incredibly liberating. _Only_ two things to lose.

“Well, I’m still alive for now,” Puck cracks with a sardonic grin. “So that’s one. And then, well.” He sighs. “News had it coming up 75 more or less, right? So there’s a chance they had more time to get ready, over in Columbus.”

“But what do you have in Columbus?”

Puck grinds the toe of his boot against the floor and then starts walking into the kitchen without looking at Kurt. “Beth,” he answers over his shoulder. 

Kurt has no response to that. He didn’t realize Puck had kept tabs on the baby after Shelby adopted her, though somehow, he’s not as surprised as he could be. Without saying anything, he follows Puck back into the kitchen, where they start sorting the food into piles that seem to be categorized by their vitamin C content.

As the sun sets, Puck moves through the house, flipping off the lights and moving furniture to block the doors. He closes the blinds and the drapes, gesturing at Kurt to do the same, and soon the house is nearly as dark inside as the streets are outside. 

“Could I have my phone back, please?” Kurt asks. “I’d like to try my dad again and check on Finn, too.”

“Oughta charge it while we can,” Puck says, handing it back to Kurt. “Pretty sure the phones are down but everybody’s got other stuff on these things, right? You got a laptop or anything that you need to charge?”

Sure enough, the phone says ‘no service’, though Kurt tries his dad’s number away. The call can’t connect, and Kurt puts the phone in his pocket. “My laptop’s already plugged in. I have a charger in my room. You can sleep in Finn’s room, if you want.”

“Yeah, we need to sleep in the same room, in shifts,” Puck answers. “Just in case. You go ahead and sleep first. I’ll wake you up.”

Puck carries his duffel bag and rifle, picking up the shotgun that Finn discarded in the living room and handing it to Kurt, then the two of them go upstairs to Kurt’s room, where Kurt helps Puck slide the dresser to block the bedroom door. They pull the curtains closed and only then does Puck click on the small lamp on Kurt’s bedside table. 

Kurt plugs his phone into the charger and then climbs into his bed fully clothed. “Not sure I’ll be able to sleep,” he says, but the stress and post-adrenaline-spike exhaustion overtake him, and it only feels like moments have passed before Puck is shaking him awake. 

“It’s about one,” Puck says, even though Kurt hasn’t said a word. “Electricity’s still on. Toilets still flush, too.”

Kurt yawn and rubs his eyes, trying to figure out what Puck’s talking about and, moreover, why Puck’s in his room to begin with. It hits him all in a rush—the things on tv, his dad, Finn—and the first words out of his mouth are, “Well, fuck.”

For some reason, this makes Puck grin. “Now you’re catching on, Kurt. I’ve seen a couple of the zombies shuffling down the road but they just kept on going.” He pauses. “One airplane flew over about two hours ago.”

“That’s good, right? Maybe the Army or somebody _is_ coming?” Kurt says, throwing back the covers. “Did you see any... you know. Living people?”

“Nope. Anybody out after dark’s not going to have stayed living for long. Zombie or eaten, unless they were _in_ the fucking Army. Anyway, I bet zombies don’t show up on infrared.”

“Why wouldn’t they—you know what? Nevermind. I don’t personally believe that what’s happening out there is the undead, but if that’s what you want to call them, then fine,” Kurt sighs. “What are we supposed to do to keep ourselves from turning into whatever it is they are?”

“Me, I’m going to keep myself alive and shoot the fuckers if they come at me.” Puck snorts and lies down on Kurt’s bed, boots still on. “That’d be my suggestion. Wringing our hands and worrying about what to call them isn’t exactly going to help.”

“I’m not sure that anything I do is going to help at this point,” Kurt confesses. “My dad never warned me that the government was out to get me and I’m not sure I have any survival skills to speak of. I can take a hit without crying, but I’m not sure how useful that will be.”

“You can work the shotgun, right?” Puck nods towards the gun, propped against the dresser. “That’s something. And you can be a real asshole when you want to be.” He snorts. “But if you’re a cement block, I can always swipe your supplies and leave you behind.”

“You’re not touching my supplies!” Kurt snaps. “And, yes, I know how to work the shotgun, thank you very much.”

Puck chuckles. “Yeah, you’ll be fine. Wake me up at five.”

Kurt just snorts in response, pulling his desk chair up to the window so he can look through the curtain and see the street below. “I’m not an asshole,” he mutters to himself as he stares out the window at the slow-moving figures up the block.


	3. Chapter 3

  


  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #3: There are only three types of people: Assholes, Zombies, and Eatens. Be an asshole, or you become an eaten.**

Puck knows he's an asshole. He owns it. It wasn't the greatest asset before, but now he's got a major leg up on the other living, breathing humans. The ones that aren't Assholes, they're Eatens that just don't know it yet. This isn't the time to worry about hurting someone's feelings or to skirt around the truth. It's time to be an asshole, to do what needs to be done, and if they're all still alive when the dust settles, then maybe, maybe Puck will worry about butthurt feelings then. Chances are, though, the only people left standing with Puck will have become Assholes, too, and the thing about Assholes is, Assholes get it. The Assholes aren't going to worry about a few incidents back while they were all busy trying not to become Eatens.  


  


Kurt feels a sharp whack on the back of his head at the same time that his head snaps forward, and he’s suddenly wide awake. “What? What’s happening?”

“Wake the fuck up, idiot,” Puck hisses. “It’s 5:30. No zombies in the past fifteen minutes. Time for breakfast and a plan. Sun’ll be up before too long.”

“Did you _hit_ me?” Kurt says, rubbing the back of his head. “And don’t call me an idiot.” 

“I tried tickling you but it didn’t work,” Puck says, and his tone is so even and reasonable that it’s not clear if Puck’s joking or not. “And you fell asleep while you were supposed to keep watch. That’s stupid.”

“It was an accident. I’m not used to waking up in the middle of the night to keep watch,” Kurt answers. “Perhaps a one-day adjustment period isn’t entire unreasonable, given that not all of us were, you know, _prepared for the apocalypse_!”

“We’ll start trading naps today,” Puck answers. “Not going back to fucking normal. You got yogurt, eggs, any more fruit?”

“Yes, to all of those,” Kurt says. “Is showering allowed in this schedule? No windows in the bathroom.”

“We’ll see after the sun’s up,” Puck grunts, walking over to the dresser and starting to push it away from the door. He picks up his rifle and gestures for Kurt to pick up the shotgun. “No lights, remember?”

Kurt nods, picking up the shotgun. “What about the light in the fridge?”

“Drapes are pulled, shouldn’t be more than thirty seconds.” Puck shrugs. “Risk of light versus risk of not being ready once the sun’s up. No good answer.”

They walk down to the kitchen, Puck leading, his rifle up and ready. The downstairs is exactly like they left it, though, and Kurt starts scrambling some eggs with the last of the cheese while Puck cuts up fruit. They make short work of the cooked eggs, the fruit, and the rest of a container of Greek yogurt, and Kurt finds himself looking at Puck expectantly, waiting for instructions on what to do next. 

“We’re gonna need supplies. More ammo, for starters. Canned meat, because the protein here is low. Water purification kits or tablets or both.” Puck drums his fingers on the table. “Hit up a pharmacy, maybe. But before we leave, we gotta get what we need from here.”

“Leave?” Kurt shakes his head. “I know you said this place isn’t defensible, but shouldn’t we give Finn and Dad and Carole a little more time? If the roads are bad as you said, they could still be back, it’s just taking them a while.”

Puck grimaces. “If they’ve really made it this far, we’ll probably run into them at some point, right? They’ll need supplies, too. The worse the roads get, the harder it’s going to be to go get supplies, and the longer we wait, the more’s gonna be gone.”

Kurt can tell from the look on Puck’s face that he doesn’t think Finn, Carole, or Kurt’s dad are going to show up. Honestly, Kurt doesn’t think so, either, but admitting it out loud has a feeling of finality he’s not prepared for yet. Still, he doesn’t argue with Puck, just nods, and says, “So... we should travel light, right? So we can move faster?”

“You have a fucking Navigator.” Puck shakes his head slowly. “What did I say about acting stupid, dude? We take as much useful shit as we can.”

  


  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #4: Don't travel light until you have to.**

There's not going to be any second chances to stock up. When Puck leaves a place, he assumes he's never going to see it again. Food, clothes, water: all of it is stuff they're going to need for days and months and, Puck thinks, years to come. He doesn't know if he should hope it is years—that means he's alive—or hope it's not years, because it comes to an end quicker than he thinks. He doesn't really expect a rescue, though, so it's years to come, and why the fuck would he start ditching things just a day in? One day, the last pair of jeans is going to rip, and if he'd left a pair behind, well, that future Puck would cuss out new-to-the-apocalypse Puck. The biggest vehicle, the roof, the back, and it's too bad a trailer on the hitch would slow them down. 

Puck wishes he'd grabbed the Cubans. And his guitar.  


  


Kurt looks at the pile of ‘useful’ things Puck has piled next to the Nav and the garage, and he has to trust that all of it is not only useful, but will actually fit into the Nav and leave them enough room for all the other ‘useful’ things they’re going to be stealing—sorry, _stockpiling_ —from the pharmacy and any other stores Puck wants to ‘hit up’ before they... do whatever it is they’re going to do. Puck seems to have plans for the two of them to drive to Columbus, but Kurt isn’t really sure what’s supposed to happen after that, if _that_ even happens.

“Your back row of seats, it come out?” Puck asks, frowning at the various bags and containers. 

“There’s a latch underneath,” Kurt says. “Pull up.”

“‘Kay.” Puck removes them and starts loading the Nav efficiently. “We’ll put the gas cans on the roof. You’re _sure_ this is all of the ammo in the house?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. I checked Dad’s closet twice, and all the other closets. If there’s any more, it’s at the tire shop,” Kurt says. “Do you think we should go there and check? He’ll have a lot more gas cans, too. More tools.”

Puck frowns. “Maybe. We’ll see how it is out there. Sun’s up?”

Kurt nods. “Just barely, but it’s up.”

“Doors locked before the garage door goes up. Don’t stop, even if you see someone you know. Back roads. Head towards Harding, we’ll hit Big Lots, the KMart pharmacy.”

“I need to do one more thing before we go,” Kurt says, turning to walk back into the house. “It’ll just take a second!” he calls back over his shoulder. He sprints to the kitchen and rifles through the drawer nearest the door, pulling out a small pad of paper. He scribbles “Alive and with Puck. Heading for Columbus. Have phones if service ever comes back. I LOVE YOU” and leaves the note in the middle of the kitchen table, with a can of peas holding it down, before returning to the garage. 

“Ready now?” Puck asks, standing with one foot inside the Nav. “Let’s go liberate some dry goods.”

“Liberate?”

Puck shrugs. “Something they like to say in those Westerns my Nana likes.”

“As long as I don’t have to saddle anything up, I suppose,” Kurt says, locking the door into the house, then climbing into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition. “On three?” he asks, his thumb hovering over the garage door opener’s button. 

“Let’s go be assholes,” Puck agrees, clicking the safety off. “One.” Puck looks in his sideview mirror. “Two. Three.” 

Kurt presses the button and throws the Nav into reverse, slamming his foot down on the gas as soon as the door is high enough for the Nav to clear it. He hits the brakes, throwing the Nav into drive, and peels out, the squeal of the tires echoing down the completely empty street. 

“Well, damn.” Puck snorts. “That was anticlimatic.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Kurt says, flapping one hand at him while he steers with the other. “Never, ever say stuff like that!”

“Can I still say ‘darn’?”

“Fuck your ‘darn’,” Kurt snaps. “If I hear ‘anticlimactic’ again, I’m decking you.”

“Okay, okay,” Puck laughs. “At least we know there’s no zombies around here.” He peers out the window and frowns. “No one else, either.”

“Maybe they’re hiding, like we were. Maybe they’re already at the KMart, liberating the dry goods.”

“Probably still sleeping,” Puck says derisively. “How’s your gas?”

“Three quarters of a tank. Do you think any of the gas stations are still open?” Kurt asks. 

“Pumps should work since the power’s still on. We should fill up.”

“Guess it’s good I brought the gold card, then.” Kurt points to the front pocket of his satchel. “All the cards, actually.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Puck grins. “Okay, is your dad’s shop on the way to Harding?”

“We’ll have to veer over for a block, but it’s more or less in the right direction. We can top off my tank and other fluids there, too, plus Dad has extra gas cans, oil, and unless he got it before he went after Carole, there’s another shotgun in the office.” 

“Oh, awesome.” Puck perks up and grins. “Ammo, too?”

“He used to keep a few boxes of shells in the desk. I haven’t checked in a while, or anything, but knowing Dad...” Kurt sighs. “Creatures of habit. It’s a Hummel thing.”

“Cool.” Puck seems very upbeat for the early hour, how little sleep they have had, and the fact that everyone they know has probably been eaten or infected with whatever mutant virus is working its way through Ohio. 

They make it to the shop without seeing another living—or non-living or questionably-living—thing, and Kurt unlocks one of the bays, then pulls the Nav in and locks it up behind them. Nothing in the shop looks unusual or out of place, and Kurt actually lets himself relax a little in the familiar setting. 

“Gas cans are back there,” Kurt says, pointing. “Tank’s out back, so we’ll fill everything up last. Tools are all in the big cabinet over there. If you need the key, let me know, but Dad leaves it unlocked half the time.” 

Kurt lets himself into the office and locates the shotgun. He finds three boxes of shells in the bottom drawer of his dad’s desk, along with about a dozen granola bars. “Dad!” Kurt grumbles to himself. He’s been sending those bars with Burt to work for weeks now; obviously he hasn’t been eating them. Kurt also takes the petty cash box, just in case they make it to a state where actual people are still willing to accept actual money, and, almost as an afterthought, the flannel shirt draped over the back of his dad’s chair. 

“Did you find what you needed?” Kurt asks, as he walks back into the garage. Puck has six gan cans lined up in front of him and an almost gleeful look on his face. 

“Hell yeah. These are five gallons each!”

“Glad I could be useful for something, at least,” Kurt says ruefully, shaking his head. “I’ll unlock the back door and we’ll fill the tanks. It’s fenced back there, so at least we don’t have to worry too much.”

“Yeah, we’d hear ‘em, at least.” 

Kurt rolls up the back door and they pull the Nav into the back lot, where Kurt tops off his tank and then passes the nozzle over to Puck to start filling his canisters. Once they’re filled, Puck ties them on top of the Nav alongside the one from home and the one Puck brought with him. 

“Okay, Big Lots time,” Puck says as he jumps down off the Nav. 

“Somehow, I’m not too worried about locking up behind us this time,” Kurt says. “You open the door, hop back in, and we’ll go.”

Puck opens the bay door and gets back into the Nav, and they’re headed in the direction of the Big Lots within seconds. Unlike the streets they’ve been traveling, which have had a few empty cars but nothing else to indicate anything is wrong, the Big Lots parking lot makes it very clear how far from right things are in Lima, Ohio. Along with abandoned cars, Kurt can see several bodies, most of them missing limbs. 

“Puck,” Kurt says quietly. “Hold on to the steering wheel.”

Puck reaches over and does so, giving Kurt a weird look. “Okay?”

Kurt rolls down the window and vomits out of it, keeping the Nav at a slow crawl forward. After a few hard retches, he spits to clear his mouth, and sits back up. “Thanks. I’ll park by the doors.”

“Good plan,” Puck agrees. “Looks empty, but we should stick together, each of us grab a cart.”

Kurt actually puts the Nav all the way up onto the sidewalk in front of the Big Lots, and he grabs his shotgun, shoving a handful of shells into his pockets. “Should I lock it?”

“Yes.” Puck chuckles darkly. “If we didn’t have it, I wouldn’t hesitate to hot-wire someone else’s.”

Kurt nods. They step up to the Big Lots doors, which retract open automatically, and they stand there for a moment, Puck’s head cocked to the side like he’s listening. After a good two or three minutes, Puck holds up a hand and gestures towards the orange carts, pulling one out and pushing it towards Kurt before grabbing a second one. 

“Water first,” he whispers, then heads to his left. Kurt follows behind, keeping the cart just far enough back to not clip Puck’s heels with it, but only that far back. Pushing the cart with one hand, while holding a gun in the other, is a singular experience, and not one Kurt ever, in his wildest dreams, imagined he’d be having. He’s fairly certain he could have lived without it. 

The shelves are still almost completely full. The water section doesn’t even have any spaces to indicate any of the water has been taken. “How much should we take?” Kurt asks, quietly.

Puck looks at him scornfully. “All of it.”

“Oh,” Kurt whispers back. “Will it all fit?”

“You don’t need to look behind you,” Puck answers shortly, already picking up flats and loading them in his cart. “We already know what’s behind us.”

Kurt nods and starts loading the larger bottles of water into his cart. They finish loading the water, and on the way out to the Nav, Puck grabs a pair of folding camp chairs and a handful of the one dollar plastic tablecloths, and tosses those into the cart, too. On impulse, Kurt grabs several large packs of paper napkins, too, as well a box of mixed plastic cutlery. They’re passing the checkout counters when a crash comes from behind a nearby display. 

“What was that?” Kurt hisses.

“Dunno,” Puck whispers, wheeling in the direction of the noise and bringing his rifle up. Kurt does the same with his shotgun, just in time to see a woman stagger out from behind a stand of school supplies. She still has a purse dangling on her left elbow, but the front of her dress is soaked in blood and her abdomen is torn open, intestines hanging from the wound.

“Oh, shit!” Kurt screams. “Shit!”

Puck doesn’t say a word, just squeezes off a round straight into the woman’s face. The woman stumbles backwards and falls over silently, her purse still on her arm. When it hits the ground, a bottle of pills and some lipstick fall out and bounce across the floor. Puck walks forward and scoops the pills up, reading the label aloud. “Valium. Okay. I’ll keep ‘em in case you keep screaming.” Puck pockets the bottle and returns to his cart, pushing it out the door. “You comin’?”

Given the choice between staying inside the Big Lots alone—well, alone with the faceless dead lady—and following Puck back outside, Kurt thinks that option B is overwhelmingly more appealing, so he gives his cart a forward shove.

  


  
**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #5: Aim for the face.**

Aim small, miss small: yeah, that's part of the reason to aim for the face. The other part is that when Puck blasts a zombie in the face, the now extra-dead zombie doesn't really look like a human anymore. There's no dead eyes, no gaping mouth, nothing to suggest that the monster lying in front of him was once a living, breathing human. It's just a Zombie, not even an Eaten, and aiming for the face helps Puck remember to be an Asshole. The zombies aren't people. It's just an unfortunate resemblance.  


  


When they’ve finally finished in the Big Lots and KMart shopping center, the Nav is stuffed almost to its roof with an assortment of canned goods (with a heavy emphasis on canned meat), water, toilet paper, first aid supplies, duct tape, matches and lighters, candles, a few camping lanterns, all the batteries in all the sizes that both stores carried, an assortment of over-the-counter and prescription medications—including pain killers (narcotic and non-narcotic), antibiotics, sleeping pills (Kurt’s suggestion, for a more pleasant alternative to death-by-being-eaten), deworming medication (Puck’s suggestion; he wouldn’t expand upon why), both laxatives and anti-diarrheal medication (because Puck seems rather preoccupied with their bowel motility), and Ritalin—plus some sheets, towels, and twelve bottles of pump hand sanitizer. 

Puck declares it a ‘decent haul’ and they drive towards the gun store north of Robb Park. At Puck’s insistence, they don’t take the shorter route through town, and what little Kurt does see of the previously more crowded streets makes him thankful that he’s just decided to go with Puck’s suggestions. If the Big Lots parking lot was bloody, the streets closer to town are a war zone, with blood and body parts splashed and strewn across the blacktop, seemingly at random. 

“We need to get all the water purification kits they have,” Puck says. “The coldest-rated sleeping bags they’ve got, and more batteries. Plus the guns and ammo, of course. Even the ammo for weapons we don’t have.”

“I’m sorry I froze up back there,” Kurt says. “I—I just froze.”

“Nah, well. We need to call dibs on ‘em, otherwise we’re wasting ammo. So we should each always take the one closest to us, or something.”

“Okay. I’ll do better next time. It’s an adjustment period, right? I’ll get past it,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah, probably. That wasn’t the first one for me.” Puck pauses. “Except I want any of them dressed in yellow, or a Sheets N Things uniform.”

“I call dibs on the Wal-Mart greeters, then,” Kurt says. “It’s only fair.”

“See, we can have an equitable division,” Puck laughs. 

“Do you think the—the zombies inside... do you think they’ll have guns?” Kurt asks. He feels a little ridiculous asking, but if it’s even slightly possible, he wants to be prepared. “Muscle memory, it could happen, right?”

“I’m thinking no?” Puck shrugs. “Depends on the specifics of the outbreak, but these zombies seem pretty damn dumb so far. We were in the Big Lots for at least ten minutes and it didn’t really even come after us.”

“Maybe she— _it_ —was stupid to begin with,” Kurt points out. “I’m just saying that we need to consider the possibility that others could be less stupid.”

“Yeah,” Puck says slowly. “I encountered at least six or seven yesterday before I got to your place. They’ve all been that stupid.”

“Ah. Well, score one for the assholes, then!” Kurt chirps, in his best imitation of his _before_ voice, the sort of devil-may-care voice one might use when accepting a prom queen crown. “Assholes one, apocalypse... a lot.”

“Eat your heart out, zombies?” Puck asks with a laugh, as they pull up to the gun store. The front door of the gun store is hanging on one hinge, and the sidewalk in front of the store is littered with spent shotgun shells, along with several firearms and half-eaten bodies. 

“Look like someone beat us here,” Kurt says. 

“They’re gone now, though,” Puck comments. “And we don’t even have to set foot inside for the first weapons.”

The store itself is, thankfully, empty of any current or former human life. They quickly gather up all the guns, all the ammo (whether it fits the guns they have or not), and Puck makes a great show of doing a side-by-side comparison of all the knives before settling on the largest two. Puck also grabs the store’s entire stock of silver thermal blankets, the water treatment equipment Puck had previously mentioned, and two sub-zero sleeping bags (one blue, one green). 

Kurt’s stomach growls as they’re loading the last of the ammo into the back of the Nav. Puck laughs. “Let’s go see what the employees were gonna have for lunch yesterday.” He shoulders his way into the back room, where a refrigerator is still happily humming. 

“Hmm.” Kurt stares at the two brown bags inside the refrigerator. “Do you feel more like a Phil or an Earl today, Puck?”

“Oh, Earl, definitely.”

Kurt reaches his hand into the sack and pulls out a sandwich baggie, opening it and giving the sandwich a sniff. “Lucky you! Smells like tuna salad.” He hands Puck the bag and gives Phil’s bag an inspection. “Luckier me. I have ham and cheese on white bread, with mayo!”

“A true classic,” Puck comments, already sinking his teeth into the tuna salad sandwich. “Hey, cool, I got Lay’s too!”

“I have Ruffles,” Kurt says. “The moral of this story is, always go with Phil.”

After they finish their borrowed lunches—and Puck chews a piece of gum, at Kurt’s insistence—they swipe the few cans of Pepsi in the refrigerator and head back out to the Nav. Kurt’s already unlocking the doors when he hears Puck swear.

“Son of a bitch!” Puck’s frowning at his arm, where a trickle of blood is running down his forearm. “Fucking broken glass.”

“You’re hurt!” Kurt walks back over to Puck and tries to take him by the wrist and inspect the wound, but Puck slaps his hand away. “Excuse me! I’m trying to help!”

“Yeah, well. It’s like the dentist and AIDS, right? No bodily fluids,” Puck explains, rummaging in the Nav for the first aid supplies with one hand. “We didn’t exactly pick up a bunch of latex gloves.”

“But you aren’t a zombie!” Kurt argues. “And I’m not a zombie, either.”

“We don’t know how fast this shit works. Better safe than sorry.” Puck rips a length of bandage off the roll with his teeth, then wraps it around his forearm, taping it down.

  


  
**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #6: No bodily fluids.**

Puck scraped by with a D in biology, because they spent way too much time on some kind of cycles, and very little on diseases and humans and stuff that's actually relevant. He does know the phrase 'disease vector' though, and he knows that no one's really sure how the zombies make new zombies. Seems pretty clear to Puck, though, that blood or saliva or other bodily fluids are definitely a bad plan. Maybe it'll turn out that he's not being careful enough, but Puck's pretty sure it's not airborne, because otherwise he thinks he'd be a Zombie by now. Still an Asshole, though, and Assholes keep their blood and shit to themselves. Assholes avoid other Assholes' blood, too, because if nothing mixes, that means they get to stay Assholes. 

Puck likes being an Asshole. It's got miles on the alternatives, too.  


  


  
Harding Highway is surprisingly clear, which gives Kurt an opportunity to stop the Nav so they can unfold a map. “Should take 23 or 33 to Columbus?” he asks Puck.

“Which one’s got us on Ohio roads longer than the US highway?”

“23 keeps us off the US highways, more or less,” Kurt says. “Won’t we make faster time on a bigger road, though?”

“More small gas stations on the Ohio road, less chance of big traffic jams. We got a chainsaw at KMart but I don’t want to move a lot of cars.”

“Fair enough,” Kurt answers. 

Puck looks out the window and grabs his rifle suddenly. “Hang on a second,” he says, jumping out and slamming the door, then he jogs into the unlocked Sherwin-Williams. It’s less than five minutes before he returns with a small can of paint and a brand-new paintbrush. 

Kurt rolls down his window. “Puck, what exactly is it that you’re doing with that paint?”

“Reminding other Assholes that if someone’s driving, they’re not Zombies.” Kurt can actually _hear_ the capital letters in Puck’s tone now, and as much as the idea of someone painting words on his baby would previously have bothered him, in light of the possibility of taking a shot to the head from other survivors—Kurt can’t quite bring himself to call them Assholes yet—it seems prudent not to protest. 

Puck pops the lid off to reveal bright white paint, and he starts with the passenger side. “These. Assholes. Are. Alive,” he reads slowly as he paints, then goes to the driver’s side and repeats the process. He sets the paint can and brush down on the ground and climbs back in. “Okay, let’s go!”

“Nice of you to join me,” Kurt says. In his sideview mirror, he sees three—no, four—zombies emerging from behind a nearby building. “Timely, too.” He presses down on the gas pedal and the Nav zooms down the road, in the direction of US 23.  
 ****

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #7: Assholes can read.**

Some zombies look a little too normal. They don't think, but when Puck gets a glance from just one side, sometimes he thinks he's found another Asshole, until the Zombie turns and he realizes that nope, just a fucking zombie that doesn't look gross from one side. Then he aims for the face and squeezes the trigger. In theory, though, there could be confusion, if Assholes encounter other Assholes, but Assholes can read. There could be a sign that says 'Zombies, Free Meal This Way!' and they wouldn't turn, because they're stupid fucking monsters. Assholes would turn, because it means more Assholes somewhere.  


  



	4. Chapter 4

Finn is so angry driving away from the house, he doesn’t realize until he’s blocks away that he left the shotgun. He considers going back for it, because Kurt has Puck and a rifle there with him, but the streets already look bad, and he doesn’t want to waste any more time getting to Rachel’s. Twenty minutes, he can get there, pile her and her dads into his truck, and get back home. 

Except it takes him more than twenty minutes just to get to Rachel’s house. Even after Puck showed up looking shell-shocked, even knowing that meant Puck’s mom and sister were probably dead, Finn still didn’t quite connect what he saw on tv with what was was happening outside his own house. He isn’t prepared for the cars stopped in the middle of the road, some of them with their passengers still inside, dead and... just like Puck said. Eaten. He isn’t prepared for the slow lurch of a zombie across the street in front of him, its body damaged, one arm hanging at angle that would be cripplingly painful on somebody who’s still alive. 

Finn’s close to panic by the time he finally reaches Rachel’s house, especially when he bangs on the door and no one answers. He gets the extra key, hidden under the small ceramic statue of that guy with the half-mask and cape from the musical Rachel and Kurt both like, and unlocks the house, swinging the door open slowly and calling out “Rachel?”

There’s no answer, but from inside the house, he can hear music and the sounds of quiet conversation, punctuated with one of Rachel’s giggles. Finn shuts the door behind him, locks it, and takes his shoes off before walking onto the carpet, because Hiram insists on it and Finn isn’t sure if zombies create an exception to that or not. 

He finds Rachel curled up next to Hiram on the sofa, her feet tucked underneath her. She and Hiram each have a bright red drink in one hand, and the television is on, some black and white movie playing. 

“Rachel?” Finn says, and Rachel slowly turns her head to look at him. She seems to take a second too long to register what she’s seeing, and her smile is as brilliant as ever, but her eyes are glazed. 

“Finn!” Rachel chirps, patting the cushion next to her on the sofa. “We’re having a Cosmos and _Casablanca_ party while Daddy takes a rest under the piano!”

Finn glances into the adjoining music room, where LeRoy is curled in a ball under the piano, a pill bottle in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. He isn’t moving, but he looks like he’s breathing, at least, so Finn turns his attention next to Rachel and Hiram. Rachel’s cheeks are too pink, and Hiram hasn’t even reacted to Finn’s presence yet.

“Rachel, we need to get some stuff packed up,” Finn says. “It’s already bad out there and you and your dads need to come back to my house with me.”

Rachel giggles again and this finally rouses Hiram, who looks at Finn as though he had just appeared in their living room by magic. “Finn Hudson,” Hiram announces, his voice slurred and overly loud. “Sit down. Fix yourself a drink.”

“Uh, Mr. Berry, we need to pack some things and _go_ ,” Finn explains. “There’s zombies and sh—stuff out there! Kurt and Puck are back at my house and they’ve got guns, so we should get whatever you need, and go.”

Hiram blinks a few times, then repeats, “Sit down and fix yourself a drink” a little louder, like maybe Finn just didn’t hear him correctly. 

“We’ll go to the kitchen!” Rachel says, suddenly standing. Her red drink sloshes over her hand, but she doesn’t react to it. “I’ll make you a cosmo and then we can finish our movie,” she adds.

“Rachel, what’s wrong with you?” Finn asks, pulling her by the arm into the kitchen. “This isn’t some kind of joke. I was out there, Rachel. I saw them.”

“Dad says there’s no reason to get upset, that everything will be fine,” Rachel coos at him. “We all took some Xanax so we can stay nice and calm and not panic or upset Daddy any more. Poor Daddy.” She pats Finn’s hand where it’s still gripping her arm. “I’ll go in and get you some, too, so you don’t have to worry, either!”

“Dammit, Rachel!” Finn snatches his hand away from her arm. “We _need_ to worry. Those things are eating people. I think Puck’s mom and sister are dead. Burt and my mom—they’re at the hospital. It’s bad out there, really bad!”

“The man on the news said we should stay calm and stay in our houses,” Rachel explains. “Then Dad made me turn off the news because it gives Daddy hysterics.”

“No, we shouldn’t stay calm,” Finn insists. “Well, we should stay calm, but you need to take this seriously. There’s dead people out there! Monsters, Rachel. Real monsters.”

“But there’s no monsters in here,” Rachel says, with a brilliant smile. “It’s safe in here, and we have our movies and our drinks, and we’re together. Dad says that’s what’s important right now. Being together.”

Finn stares at her, mouth gaping, and part of him just wants to leave her there with her dads and get back to people who have some sense of self preservation, but the rest of Finn knows that he won’t, _can’t_ , leave her here. Rachel isn’t prepared for this—none of them were, except maybe Puck, but Rachel less so—and Finn is the only thing she has besides her dads, who apparently have already given the three of them up for dead.

“Okay,” Finn says. “We’ll watch some movies. I’m going to block the door with the china cabinet first, though.”

Rachel giggles drunkenly and touches Finn’s arm with her hand. “So silly. Such a silly, silly boy!"

Finn tries to smile at her, he really does, and whatever face he makes must be enough, because she whirls away to the living room, falling onto the sofa with Hiram while Finn drags the china cabinet in front of the door. There’s nothing to do about the windows, not really, but they at least have those heavy, fancy drapes that he can close and block out the view from the street. It isn’t much, but at least he feels like he’s doing something useful, which is more than he can say for any of the Berrys.

He wishes he could call Kurt, but his cell says no service and when he pick up the Berrys’ kitchen phone, there’s no dialtone. It’s like the whole world outside of Rachel’s house has disappeared, but then, Finn thinks, it’s also sort of like the whole world inside of Rachel’s house has disappeared, too. 

By the time Finn gets back into the living room, Rachel has passed out on Hiram and the credits are rolling. Finn cleans up the spilled cosmos and turns off the television and the lights, and he pulls a chair up to the living room window, where he sits and watches three zombies stagger down the street together. One of them starts to turn towards Rachel’s house, but then a car drives by and the zombies slowly wheel to follow it. 

Finn dozes fitfully, and wakes up with pale light streaming in through the crack in the curtain and the sound of _Casablanca_ on the television again. LeRoy is still passed out under the piano, but the vodka bottle’s level has dipped and the bottle of Xanax has been relocated to his other hand, so Finn figures he was awake for long enough to drug himself back into a stupor. Hiram has one arm around Rachel, who is curled into a tiny ball and covered with a throw blanket, but Hiram, at least, seems awake and somewhat more aware than last night.

“Mr. Berry,” Finn says softly, coming to sit near Rachel’s feet on the sofa. “We really need to get Rachel out of here. If we can just get her over to my house—”

“Finn,” Hiram cut in, his voice unusually calm. He’s been back in the Xanax, too, probably. “We’re all going to die. I know you’re not the brightest kid, but I think you know that, too.”

Finn recoils like he’s been hit. “No, we can go back to my house. Puck has guns.”

“Prolonging the inevitable, Finn,” Hiram says. “And working yourself—and Rachel—up over something you can’t control. You should fix yourself a drink, take a pill, and keep calm for her sake. She doesn’t know.”

“Sir, I’m pretty sure she knows there are monsters out there,” Finn answers slowly. 

“But she doesn’t know they’re going to get her. She’s our princess, Finn. Our little princess.” Hiram’s eyes tear up and he blinks rapidly before the look of calm washes back over his face. “And the monster doesn’t eat the princess.”

Rachel stirs on the sofa and she smiles at Finn when she opens her eyes. “Is the movie back on? Did I miss any of it?”

“We can restart it,” Hiram tells her. “Here, baby. Take your medicine.” He opens the bottle of Xanax that was resting on the table next to him and shakes three into his palm, handing them to Rachel, along with a half-full cosmo glass. Rachel swallows the pills and finishes the cosmo, snuggling back with Hiram while Finn watches with a growing feeling of horror.

Finn knows he should take her, just grab her and throw her over his shoulder, but he can’t figure out what to do _next_ , so he doesn’t even try. He feels frozen and helpless, and he wanders around the house, looking through windows, turning off lights, trying to rouse Rachel from her stupor any time Hiram leaves the sofa. 

That second day passes in a long, slow blur, the fear and panic building and building inside of Finn. Every time _Casablanca_ stops, Hiram restarts it, and when Rachel comes up from her drug and booze haze, she doesn’t even seem to realize it’s not the same showing of the movie. Hiram gives her more pills and more cosmos any time she wakes, and the sun goes down with Finn feeling like he’s trapped in some kind of time bubble. 

Hiram and Rachel sleep on the sofa again, and LeRoy presumably sleeps underneath the piano, though he hasn’t emerged for so much the bathroom, so it’s hard to say if he’s sleeping or so drugged that he’s under there pissing himself. Finn _doesn’t_ sleep this night, not even a little bit. He watches Rachel and he stares out the window and he sees a clump of zombies swamp a slow-moving car and pull the driver out the open window. 

The sun rises and Hiram puts _Casablanca_ back on, and it starts all over again with the bottle of pills and the silver cocktail mixer, glass after red-filled glass. Finn fixes himself some food and offers some to Rachel. She blinks at him and smiles, like she doesn’t understand his words. Hiram stares at Finn without saying anything, his eyes glazed over from the drugs, but still steely; Finn doesn’t offer _him_ any food. 

When the piano guy—Sam, after about twenty loops of _Casablanca_ , Finn knows his name is Sam—plays ‘As Time Goes By’, Rachel and Hiram both sing along loudly. Even her drugged, too-breathy voice is still perfectly on pitch, and she puts her arms up for Finn. He holds her and she steps side to side, dancing as she sings, while Finn stands stock-still. She keeps swaying back and forth, humming to herself and occasionally singing snippets of lyrics, long after the song is over on the movie. 

Finn keeps checking his phone, plugged in in the kitchen, but there’s still no service. The street outside is still, abandoned cars and partially eaten bodies at random intervals in both directions. He doesn’t see any zombies, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there somewhere. He misses his mom. He misses Kurt. He’s increasingly certain he’ll never see them again, or Burt or Puck or anybody outside of this room. 

“Finn, come have a drink,” Hiram says, shaking the silver cocktail mixer again, hard. “Sit down with us, for Rachel’s sake.” 

“Mr. Berry, I—”

“It would make her so happy. She’s so much calmer when you’re here, Finn,” Hiram says. He pours a drink into a glass and holds it out to Finn. “Just the one. You’ll feel better.”

Finn accepts the drink. He’s never had a real cosmo, just the virgin ones Rachel makes, and he remembers those being sweeter. This one has a slightly bitter aftertaste, but that might be the alcohol. He sits on the sofa with his arm around Rachel, and Hiram is right. After a while, Finn does feel better, calmer.

The power cuts off abruptly, the television going black and Rachel makes a soft cry of surprise. “It’s ok, baby,” Hiram assures her, patting her hand. “It’ll come back on later. Let’s go have a potty break and you can put on a pretty dress.”

Hiram helps her to her feet and the two of them stagger upstairs. The living room is so quiet after the constant background buzz of _Casablanca_ , and Finn remembers that nobody’s checked on LeRoy for a while. Finn walks over to the piano and peers underneath it.

“Mr. Berry?” Finn says quietly. LeRoy doesn’t stir, and Finn gets down on his hands and knees to look under the piano. LeRoy is too still; Finn can’t even see or hear him breathing, and he reaches out to touch LeRoy’s arm. It’s cold and his skin feels waxy. “Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Finn starts muttering, his volume gradually getting louder. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.”

“Finn?” Rachel’s voice floats across the room. “Where are you?”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Finn keeps chanting softly. “Oh fuck, oh— _be right there, Rachel!_ ” he makes himself call to her. He forces himself to his feet and he walks into the living room. Hiram is already settled back on the sofa, Rachel curled against him, both of them with drinks. “Mr. Berry?”

“Sit down and have another drink, Finn,” Hiram says calmly.

“No, Mr. Berry. I really need to talk to you. Now.” Something in Finn’s voice or face must make Hiram take him seriously, because Hiram whispers something to Rachel, who smiles sleepily, then he stands and walks over to Finn. 

“What is it, Finn?” Hiram says. “I don’t want you upsetting Rachel.”

“Mr. Berry, I—she’s going to be upset. It’s... Mr. Berry. LeRoy, I mean. He’s not breathing. Mr. Berry, I think LeRoy is dead.”

Hiram seems to slowly register the information, his face clouding, and then he says, “Don’t tell Rachel.”

“Mr. Berry,” Finn says, looking at Hiram like he’s crazy. “He’s _dead_. She needs to—”

“Stay calm and happy,” Hiram interrupts. “Look at her, Finn. Look at how calm and happy she is right now. Do you really want her panicking and frantic? Do you really want her to die terrified?”

“ _Mr. Berry_!” Finn says, raising his voice. “I don’t want her to die _at all_! We need to get out of here! We need to stop sitting around and drinking and you guys need to stop taking those pills, and we need to _go_!”

“Okay, Finn,” Hiram sighs, finally. Something in his tone sounds off, but maybe it’s the drugs or it’s LeRoy or it’s the fact that the whole fucking world is ending. “We’ll go, but only if you help me with LeRoy and you promise not to tell her yet. I’ll tell her when we’re somewhere safe.” He puts his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Will you do that for me, son?”

An overwhelming feeling of relief floods Finn and his shoulder relaxes under Hiram’s touch. “I can do that. Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.”

“We have a shovel in the garage.”

It takes moment for it to register with Finn that Hiram means for Finn to go get the shovel and dig a grave with it. Outside. “Mr. Berry...”

“Will you do that for us, Finn? For Rachel?” Hiram asks him, and Finn slowly nods.

“Yes, sir. I can do that for you.” Finn puts on his shoes, and he goes into the garage and gets the shovel. He pulls the garage door up a little and peeks out at the street—still clear. He slides under the door, walks around to the back, and starts digging. The ground back there is soft for the first few feet down, but then he hits harder clay and he has to stop. It’s only about three feet deep, but it might be long enough at least, and it’s the best he can do. 

He sees one zombie slowly shuffling down the street, and he freezes until it passes, then quickly slips back under the garage door. Rachel isn’t in the living room when Finn gets back in, not even bothering to take off his shoes this time. He tracks dirt across the carpet. 

“Rachel’s having a bubble bath,” Hiram says when he notices Finn. “I told her she should do that while the water in the tank was still warm.”

Finn nods. Of course she’s taking a bubble bath. Why wouldn’t she be, when the world is ending and Finn is still covered in dirt from digging a grave for LeRoy Berry? Finn walks to the piano, and wordlessly, he and Hiram pull LeRoy’s body out from underneath it. LeRoy’s body is stiff and curled up, and Finn realizes the grave might not be _wide_ enough if they can’t unbend him. Hiram cradles LeRoy’s head gently; half of LeRoy’s face has gone purplish, like a deep bruise. 

Together, they wrestle LeRoy’s body out the front door and into the shallow grave behind the house. Finn’s right, it isn’t wide enough, and he has to shove to get LeRoy to fit. Hiram says something in Hebrew and then they two of them quickly fill the hole. 

Rachel is dressed and on the sofa when they come back in. “Where were you?” she asks.

Finn and Hiram exchange looks, and Hiram smiles at Rachel and says, “We checked the mail. It isn’t here yet.”

“Where’s Daddy? He isn’t under the piano.”

“He went up to lie down, baby,” Hiram says. “He thought he’d be more comfortable up in the bed.”

Finn gapes at Hiram, but Hiram raises an eyebrow, so Finn says nothing. Hiram walks into the kitchen, and Finn hears bottles clinking, pouring, a click of pills shifting in a bottle—probably Hiram taking more Xanax—and then Hiram emerges from the kitchen with a tray holding three large glasses filled with reddish-pink liquid. 

“It’s the last of the cosmos, I’m afraid,” he says. “So I thought we’d go ahead and polish them off.” He deliberate takes the glass on the far left and holds it out for Finn. “Here Finn, this one’s for you.”

“Mr. Berry,” Finn says. “You said—”

“After,” Hiram assures him. “Just do this one more thing for me.”

“Okay.” Finn takes the glass. The cosmo is even more bitter than the last one, but maybe it’s like coffee and it’s more bitter at the bottom of the pot, or it’s like what his mom says about red wine and dregs. Hiram watches him expectantly until Finn’s glass is empty, then he hands one to Rachel, and the two of them settle back onto the sofa. 

Surely when Hiram is done with his drink, he’ll do what he promised Finn, and they’ll leave. Finn sits in the chair by the window, waiting. The waiting stretches out and time slows down, and Finn feels too calm, his body heavy, but just as he registers that something isn’t right, that what he’s feeling isn’t normal, he dozes off. 

When he wakes up, it’s dark and the room is filled with candles and people, all clustered around the sofa, but then Finn’s eyes focus more and the people aren’t people. They’re zombies, and they aren’t clustered. They’re _eating_. One is pulling strips of flesh off Hiram’s arm, the other’s mouth gnawing at his shoulder, and the third...

The air feels like water, too thick, and Finn’s movements are too slow. He screams and he runs in the direction of the sofa, the zombies all too focused on eating to turn. He grabs Rachel’s arm and pulls and runs. He drags her towards the stairs, dragging the zombie along with her, its face buried in her abdomen, chewing and chewing. Finn is dimly aware of the wide red smear Rachel leaves behind her as he drags, and he hears her voice, high-pitched but not as loud as a scream, and the zombie keeps eating her and she’s _still alive_. 

He pulls her as far as the stairs, has her head and shoulders up on the steps, when the zombie seems to realize Finn is trying to interrupt its meal and lurches off of Rachel in Finn’s direction. Finn kicks at it and wraps his arms under Rachel’s arms, and kicks at the zombie again, trying to lift her. The high-pitched not-scream still comes out of her, but she isn’t moving, and then the zombie is grabbing at Finn and he drops her. He drops her and he runs to her room, and before he slams the door behind him he looks back to see a second zombie leaning over Rachel’s body, biting into her face.

Finn can’t think clearly, his arms and legs feel too heavy, but he somehow locks the door and shoves Rachel’s dresser in front of it. The door shakes once, twice, and he hears a few, long dragging scratches, but not the high-pitched noise from Rachel. He should be screaming, crying, but he feels like he’s moving through tar, he can’t even reach the parts of his brain that might let him do those things. He looks down at his hand and realizes he’s holding the little gold star necklace he gave Rachel that Christmas they were broken up. The chain is snapped and tangled around his fingers, and the star is smeared with blood. He shoves it in his pocket. 

_Kurt and Puck. Home. I told them I’d come home. I’m not getting eaten._ The thoughts float to the surface of his awareness, and Finn moves on autopilot. He rips the canopy down from Rachel’s bed, ties it together and to the bed, and opens her window. He uses the canopy as a rope to climb down her trellis, and as soon as his feet hit the ground he’s running to his truck, frantically feeling for his keys and zooming backward down the driveway, away from the zombies emerging from the house, before his door is even shut.

Finn doesn’t really become aware of where he is again until he’s sitting in his driveway in the truck and realizes he has to get _out_ of the truck to raise the garage door. He has to force his feet to move and he’s so tired and so sluggish that it’s all he can do to get back into the truck after and creep it forward, then roll down the garage door and somehow get into the house. He’s so tired, he just wants to lie down on the kitchen floor, but he can’t do that. He can’t lie down and die. He can’t lie down and get eaten like Hiram and Rachel.

He might as well be a zombie, the way he walks through the kitchen. He can’t feel anything. He’s not even sure there’s anything to feel. The kitchen is almost empty; Puck and Kurt aren’t here. They’re gone, long gone, maybe eaten, Finn doesn’t know. He gets the biggest knife from the knife block in the kitchen and walks to his bedroom.

His hands are bloody. His clothes are soaked with Rachel’s blood, sticking to him, and he’s so tired he feels like he’s drowning. He’s drowning in her blood, and then finally, he screams, pulling off the clothes, ripping them as he strips, throwing them across the room. Blood is smeared down his chest and up his arm, and he backs away from the bloody clothes, knife in front of him, until he’s huddled in the corner of the room, where he screams and screams and screams until everything goes gray, and even then, as he sinks under, he can still hear himself screaming “No! No! I won’t lie down!”


	5. Chapter 5

The drive towards Kenton is pretty boring, by comparison to their morning. Kurt has to slow down to weave between abandoned cars several times, which lengthens the trip by thirty minutes, and they even have to shoot a few zombies during those slow-downs, but none of the zombies ever make it too close to the Nav. As far as apocalypses go, this one has, thus far, been fairly calm. 

Kurt’s still not letting himself think about the things—and people—that they’re leaving behind, because he has to stay rational enough to keep driving. Also, he suspects, he has to stay rational enough that Puck doesn’t decide he’s less of an asset and more of an inconvenience, because he’s fairly certain Puck wouldn’t hesitate to take the Nav and leave Kurt by the side of the highway if Kurt started to lose his self-control.

Kenton looks worse than Lima, in terms of visible body count. Several of the side streets have large piles of bodies, as though people had been herded in and slaughtered, and Kurt sees more zombies shuffling between and around the buildings than he saw in Lima and the highway combined. He also sees something has hasn’t seen in two days: another moving vehicle.

“Puck! Puck, it’s a car!” Kurt says, tapping Puck on the leg. Puck turns from the passenger side window, where he has the tip of his rifle poking through the space above the lowered window glass, and Kurt points in the direction of the car. 

“Slow down and roll your window halfway,” Puck says. “And grab the handgun, just in case. They can’t have our gas cans.”

“They’d have to be assholes to try,” Kurt agrees. As the other car approaches, Kurt slows down and lowers his window. The other car, which turns out to be older Saturn station wagon, stops when the two vehicles’ drivers side windows are lined up. The window is already lowered, and Kurt can see all three occupants of the station: a black man and woman in their late 30s or early 40s, and what looks like a middle schooler in the back seat.

“You boys from this town?” the man asks, a friendly enough look on his face. Kurt can’t see any weapons on either the man or the woman.

“Lima,” Kurt responds. “Not much left there, though.”

“Guess we’ll press on to Fort Wayne, then,” the man says with a heavy sigh. “Where are you heading?”

“Columbus. We know some people there,” Kurt answers. 

The man’s face falls. “Then I guess I don’t have good news for you,” he says. “We left from outside Columbus this morning, after watching the city burn all night. ‘Fraid Columbus is gone.”

“A whole city can’t be gone,” Puck snaps. “The problem’s zombies, not a fucking fire.”

“Oh, I assure you, son, it is. The sky was red all night long, all the eastern suburbs, Columbus proper, and the fire was still burning pretty high. Even the tops of the tallest skyscrapers.” He tsks. “Guess it’ll burn itself out eventually.”

Kurt turns towards Puck. Yesterday, Finn had looked like someone in a state of shock, and Kurt’s pretty sure his own face has probably looked like that for at least part of the last day, but this is the first time he would actually say that Puck looks shaken. 

“Just two fucking things,” Puck whispers, falling back against his seat. The gun falls into his lap, and his now-empty hand clutches at the handle above the door. That’s the moment when it hits Kurt: they’re screwed.

The other driver doesn’t seem to have anything else to say, so he and Kurt nod their heads at each other, and the other man continues in the direction he was heading. “Puck,” Kurt says. “Where do you want us to go now? Do you want to keep heading towards Columbus? Maybe he’s wrong. Puck? _Puck!_ ”

Puck doesn’t respond. He continues to stare straight ahead like he can’t even hear Kurt. Clearly, he’s not up to being in charge at the moment, or even capable of telling Kurt he needs him to take over for a while. The Nav has been idled for too long now, though, and zombies start to shuffle and shamble out of alleyways in their direction. 

“Puck? We’ve got to go now,” Kurt says. “I’m heading towards US 68. If you feel up to having an opinion about where to go by then, you just let me know.” He guns the Nav down the street, watching a few of the less-mauled-looking zombies pick up some speed behind them, but nothing that comes close to the speed of the SUV as they zoom down the road. 

Puck hasn’t budged by the time they hit the edge of town and Kurt puts them northbound on 68. “We’re heading towards the interstate,” Kurt explains. “More stores the closer we get. Maybe we’ll even find a likely-looking mechanic and you can steal all the gas cans.”

The road between Kenton and Dunkirk is reasonably clear, and while Kurt thinks he sees a zombie or two wandering out in the fields, none of them approach the road. Dunkirk itself is completely empty, with only some smashed windows and the occasional large smear of blood to suggest the town had even been affected. None of the buildings appear to be worth stopping for, and Puck doesn’t rouse from his stupor, so Kurt keeps driving. 

The stretch of road between Dunkirk and Arlington is slightly slower going, because about three miles out of Dunkirk, they encounter the remains of a head-on collision blocking the road in both directions. The ditches on either side of the road make going around impossible.

“Puck, we have to move one of those cars,” Kurt finally says. “Do you think you can help me?”

Puck doesn’t respond, just opens the door of the Nav and walks over to the crashed cars. He pulls open the rear door of the car with the driver still slumped over the wheel, then reemerges with a bag of groceries. Then he stalks over to the other car and opens the driver’s side door. “Put it in the ditch?” he says after a moment, his voice completely flat. 

“May as well,” Kurt agrees, leaving the Nav idling while he walks to the back of the crashed car. “Tell me when to push.”

Puck moves the gearshift to neutral and then joins Kurt. “Three,” he says, bending his knees and shoving the car forward. Kurt does the same, and soon the car rolls off the road and into the ditch, leaving most of a lane clear. Kurt gets back into the Nav and waits for Puck to join him. Puck scowls at both of the crashed cars before climbing back into the Nav and pointing his rifle out the window again. 

Puck doesn’t say anything else, or even acknowledge Kurt’s presence, for the last two miles to Arlington. On a good day, Arlington is barely big enough to call a village, and today is far from a good day. The houses along 68 leading into town have smashed windows, doors hanging off hinges, and bodies—or at least parts of bodies—in the yards. The village itself is little more than a bank (front glass smashed), a church (surrounded by the largest swarm of zombies Kurt’s seen in one place thus far), and a village hall (similar to the church, with more bodies outside). Arlington’s streets are blessedly clear, though, as if the residents never even tried to make it to their cars, and they pass through the entirety of the town in just over a minute, even at the relatively slow pace. 

About a mile north of Arlington, Puck suddenly straightens in his seat. “Over there,” he says suddenly. “The big farmhouse.”

Kurt slows the Nav and looks at the house. It looks empty, and as safe as anything else, given the current circumstances, but they’re getting so close to the interstate now, and Kurt would rather press on. Still, Puck’s actually talking and showing interest, so a stop might be just the thing to snap him back into some semblance of a functioning member of this unlikely partnership.

“Sure, we’ll do that,” Kurt says. He turns down the gravel driveway of the farmhouse and drives in a circle before he parks directly in front of the house, front end of the Nav pointing towards the main road. “Looking for something specific?”

“Another gun. More ammo.” Puck unfastens his seatbelt. “See if they’ve got a garden that needs some help.”

“I’m fairly certain I saw apple trees around the back,” Kurt says, as much to himself as to Puck. “I’m trading out the shotgun for a rifle first, though.” 

Puck nods. “Yeah, good idea.” 

Feeling properly armed, Kurt joins Puck on the other side of the Nav. “How are we doing this? Do you think there’s anything inside?”

Puck seems to scan the house and surrounding outbuildings, pivoting on his heel. “Inside first. Some food’s probably still fresh. Hungry?”

Phil’s sandwich was hours ago, and Kurt’s been too preoccupied with driving to eat anything else. He nods, and adds, “Starving, actually.”

Puck nods once in reply and starts forward, his boots loud on the gravel. Kurt follows closely behind him, turning as he walks so he can at least make a passing attempt at covering their backs. The screen door lies discarded on the porch, the screen shredded, and the wooden front door is marred by deep, bloody gouges. Kurt can’t hear any sounds from inside the house, but that doesn’t stop him from—mostly unconsciously—moving so he’s behind Puck when Puck shoulders open the door.

Inside, the house is in disarray, furniture broken or knocked over, the rugs stained with blood. Kurt doesn’t see any bodies, but that’s not as reassuring as it might be, given the circumstances. Puck leads them through the house to the kitchen. The power’s still on here, too, and Puck immediately starts rummaging through the kitchen’s elderly refrigerator. 

“Watch the door,” Puck tosses over his shoulder. “Aim for the face. Oh, hey, cheese. And a pie.”

Kurt brings up his rifle and keeps it pointed at the door, while he asks, “What kind of pie?”

“Apple. Looks like some whipped cream, too.” Puck pulls out a pie plate and then keeps setting more things on the counter near the refrigerator. 

“Noah Puckerman,” Kurt says, keeping the rifle trained on the door. “That is the sexiest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

Puck chuckles. “Looks like there’s some leftover homemade pot roast, too.”

“Now I _know_ you’re trying to make a pass at me. Stop it, I’m working.” Kurt looks over his shoulder at Puck and smiles. Pie, whipped cream, and pot roast all sound too good to be true, two days into the end of the world. 

“If I’m making a pass at you, I’ll include mashed potatoes.” Puck starts opening cabinets until he finds plates and sets them on the table. “Anything out there?”

Kurt peers out the door again. “I think I see a chicken.”

“Yeah, I don’t know anything about butchering,” Puck says. “Dinner is served!”

Kurt lowers his rifle. “Do chickens need butchered? I thought you just cut off the heads and pulled out the feathers.” He takes a seat at the wooden kitchen table, setting his rifle across his lap. “Two days ago, the idea of that would have been pretty disgusting,” he confesses. “Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like it would be that hard.”

“You gotta cut out the organs or whatever. Didn’t you have to dissect shit in bio like us morons did?” Puck grins. “But no, doesn’t seem quite so bad.”

“We did a frog in ninth grade, but I didn’t feel like dissecting it, so the formaldehyde conveniently made me woozy,” Kurt says. “Actually, now that I’m sitting here, I think we should both get back up and wash our hands. Very well. Preferably with antibacterial soap, if it’s available.”

Kurt sets his rifle on the table and steps to the sink. The hot water still works, and Kurt uses antibacterial dishsoap and a fresh scrubber pad he locates under the sink to clean his hands to the elbow. He turns his fingertips up under the water and tries to get under his nails as clean as possible, too. When his hands are clean and dried on a paper towel, he turns to Puck and says, “That probably falls under ‘no bodily fluids’, I suppose.”

Puck grins for a moment and takes Kurt’s place at the sink, looking out the window as he washes off. “Yep, apple trees, and maybe some melons back there. Melons’ll travel at least.”

“Then let’s eat and raid a garden!” Kurt says, sitting back down and attacking his leftover pot roast with gusto. “This is really good.”

“Too bad the farmer didn’t leave more leftovers before they went zombie,” Puck agrees. “We can check for a gun out in the barn. Or the closet. Doesn’t look like they thought to use it, or it’d be around here.”

“Maybe it happened too fast or they got caught sleeping. We should look for the root cellar and see if they have any jam or jelly,” Kurt suggests. “You were enthusiastic about the jelly yesterday.”

“Yeah, good plan,” Puck nods. “Unless they went in it.”

“Then, uh. We should knock first?”

Puck laughs shortly. “Red rover, red rover, send the zombies right over.”

Kurt shudders. “No, thank you. You can send more of that pie over, though.”

Between the two of them, they eat all the pot roast and finish the pie, running their fingers around the inside of the pie plate to catch the last of the fruit and whipped cream. They leave the dishes—no point in washing up in the apocalypse—and find the root cellar fairly quickly. Luckily, they find no sign of the farmer—zombie or otherwise—and they _do_ find a shelf full of cherry, peach, apple, and plum jams and preserves, plus another shelf with various pickled spring and early summer vegetables. They pack the jams and vegetables into two wooden crates they find in the corner of the cellar, then carry the crates up and set them by the back end of the Nav.

“Apple trees, now?” Kurt asks hopefully. It’s been a productive stop, but he wants to be on the interstate and to a decent stopping point well before dark. 

“Yeah, let’s check the barn for more crates and a gun, since there wasn’t one in the house.” Puck leads the way over to the barn, and a single cow moos plaintively at them. “Sorry, Bessie, don’t know how to milk you,” Puck says as he walks past her, rifle at the ready. 

They find a shotgun and a few boxes of shells sitting on top of a stack of crates outside the barn, along with a splatter of blood. Rusting cans line the fence a few yards ahead, more cans fallen to the ground below the fence. 

“Shooting in the wrong direction,” Kurt remarks. Puck picks up the shotgun and one of the crates, while Kurt takes the boxes of shells and a second crate. 

“No one watching his back,” Puck nods. 

“And that’s why _we_ got his pie,” Kurt adds, then shakes his head at himself in mild disgust. “God, I sound so _cold_!”

“Hey, he was wasting perfectly good ammo on cans. We _deserved_ that pie.” Puck grins and walks towards the apple trees. “Melons’ll be heavy, maybe we should just go with the apples.”

“Are you kidding? I’m having watermelon one more time before I die,” Kurt says. “We’re bringing a melon.”

“Planning on dying soon?” Puck scoffs, pulling apples off the lowest branches. “Pretty sure melons are one of those plants that’ll keep growing for years.”

“I have no idea where I’ll be in a week or a month, let alone years,” Kurt retorts. “I’m not holding my breath that I’ll have another shot at watermelon.”

“Yeah, well, eating one and deciding it’s your last seems pretty dumb.” Puck snorts. 

“I’ll spit the seeds in the cupholder and you can plant me some watermelons wherever we end up, then,” Kurt says, batting his eyeslashes dramatically at Puck. “I’m sure we’ll handle the transition to farmers as smoothly as we’ve handled the transition to vigilante zombie slayers.”

“Deal,” Puck shoots back, grinning flirtatiously. “As long as you let me have at least a slice.” He plucks another apple off the tree and rubs it on a seemingly clean part of his shirt before taking a bite. “Apple a day, since there’s no doctors to stay away from.”

“Don’t eat the green ones. If you make yourself sick, that’s your problem. I’m not stopping for bathroom breaks,” Kurt says, raising his eyebrow. The full crate is heavy, and it takes both of them to carry it to the Nav and load it. The stack the jams and vegetables in the back, too, leaving the hatch open to go back for the remaining apples and Kurt’s watermelon. They’ve just hoisted the crate up when a zombie in torn, red-stained overalls comes stumbling from behind the house.

Puck lets his end of the crate down, grabbing his rifle back up from where he propped it. He brings it to his shoulder as he says, “Got this one.” Before Puck can squeeze the trigger, though, two more zombies come around the side of the building, one also dressed in overalls and the other in the remnants of a flower-print dress.

Kurt drops his side of the crate, swinging his rifle up. “Got the other one in overalls.” He and Puck both fire off their rounds simultaneously, Puck’s hitting his target in the face, while Kurt’s shot is a foot too low and too far to the right, knocking his zombie in the shoulder. “Shit! Sorry!” He fires again, and this time manages to catch the zombie in the face, though not dead-center like Puck’s shot landed.

The flower-print dress zombie gets closer and as Puck turns to aim at it, a group of seven or eight more move in a swarm from around the corner. “Fuck. Time to go,” Puck says. “Leave the food.” Kurt nods, even as he’s sprinting towards the Nav. Puck slams the back hatch down as he circles it to reach the passenger side, and Kurt cranks the engine. The flower-print zombie’s almost close enough to touch the side of the Nav as Kurt slams his foot on the gas, spraying gravel as he barrels towards the road. 

“Shit!” Kurt says. “The gun! We left it with the apples.”

“Can’t go back,” Puck says, sounding a little disgusted. He still has his rifle in hand, looking around them as they hit 68 again. “Fucking Zombies.”

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #8: If you leave it, it's lost.**

There's no turning around to go back, not anymore, not for food, not for guns, not even for ammo. Not for other Assholes, either, because maybe the Asshole violated another rule. Either that, or Puck just thought that person was an Asshole, but they're really a walking Eaten, just waiting for the end and not even realizing it. It sucks, because it's too easy to drop something, too easy for fingers to slip in the heat of the moment, but going back for it means reacting. It means giving the zombies another shot. 

Puck isn't gonna give the zombies more chances than they already get.

  


The rest of the drive to Findlay is uneventful, but Findlay itself is in utter chaos. Kurt drives slowly, weaving around crashed and abandoned cars, sometimes putting half the Nav up onto the sidewalk to avoid piles of bodies or auto wreckage. He’s pretty certain they see some other living people, but they’re on foot and Kurt isn’t willing to take the chance of approaching them, even if Puck would agree to it, which Kurt’s sure Puck wouldn’t. They see a lot of zombies, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups of two or three, but more often in larger clumps of six or more, like they’re instinctively—if something that isn’t actually alive can have instincts—driven to swarm together.

Luckily, 68 doesn’t bring them through the downtown Findlay area. Instead, it curves around the airport shortly before hitting I-75, and the closer they get to the airport, the clearer the streets get. As they pass the airport, Kurt can see that the runway is littered with crashed small planes, some of them still smoldering, but no zombies or people. He turns his attention back to the road, and soon they’re merging onto a surprisingly clear I-75. 

“I thought there’d be more people, or at least more cars,” Kurt notes. “Not complaining or anything.”

“Hit too fast, maybe,” Puck sighs. “75’s so busy, no one would have stopped like they did on the surface streets. Bet some of the exit ramps look like shit, though.”

“Then we don’t exit until we have to,” Kurt says. “Maybe it hasn’t hit as far north as Toledo yet.”

Puck looks over at Kurt incredulously. “Thought you’d gotten past fairy-tales, Kurt.”

“Look,” Kurt snaps. “I have no idea what I’m doing, or where I’m supposed to be going, okay? I’m just driving and hoping that eventually one of us will figure something out, so how about you either offer me something useful to work with here, or you just keep your opinions to yourself.” He speeds the Nav up, dodging a stalled car in the far right lane. 

“Last time my dad sent a letter he was near Toledo. If anyone’s got a long-term plan, it’d be him or one of his crazy-ass friends. Hell, he’s probably mad that it’s biological.” Puck says it in a completely flat voice, his body angled back towards the passenger window. 

“Fine,” Kurt answers, pulling out his phone and tossing it to Puck. “See if the GPS still works and try to get us a map, if you have any idea about the address.”

“Reynolds Road. It’s west of the city.” Puck looks embarrassed for some reason, but he starts trying to get the Maps to work on the phone.

“So we’d have to drive through a good chunk of city to get to it, correct?”

“Or around it, which might be smarter.” Puck shrugs. “Get west of the city, not as much out there. We need to get some gas tonight or in the morning, though.”

“Should we try to push all the way through to find your dad’s place?” Kurt asks. “I’m not sure I want to be on the road as it’s getting dark.”

“Sun’s already going down,” Puck points out. “Yeah, we got an hour or two, but we should find someplace for the night. Hit Toledo fresh after dawn. Remember, we had the easiest time those first few hours after sunrise.”

“Well, I’d like to say we should see if our luck holds, but.” Kurt shrugs. “What are we looking for in terms of a good stopping point?”

“Ideally, some place with a steel door and bars over the windows.” Puck snorts. “We need a no-tell motel in a run-down neighborhood.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Kurt says, and they drive for another thirty, thirty-five minutes before they see the signs for Bowling Green. 

“Best Motel.” Puck laughs. “Yeah, plain letters on a white background. We should check it out.”

“Billboard back there says there’s a Hampton Inn at the next exit. Better beds, fewer bedbugs,” Kurt suggests, but he slows for the exit ramp anyway. “This ramp’s pretty clear, at least. That’s promising.”

“Never seen a Hampton Inn with bars, though,” Puck counters. “Not much around this exit. Could be good. No one’s lunches or pie to steal, though.”

“I’m never going to get over that watermelon,” Kurt says mournfully. “Wow, and I thought _Lima_ was a cow town. This exit has dust, with a side of dust.”

“I’ll find you another one,” Puck grumbles. “And plant the damn seeds.”

“Big talk for a man who failed his horticulture class,” Kurt answers, quirking a small smile in Puck’s direction.

“First of all, I thought that was gonna be a class about the culture of prostitution, and second, my final project _worked_. They failed me ‘cause they said it was ‘inappropriate to use school resources to suggest better ways to grow illicit substances’. Wouldn’t let me sell it to Ryerson, either.”

“How unreasonable of them,” Kurt murmurs, as he pulls into the blacktop parking lot of the Best Motel. The parking lot is empty, save for an abandoned 18-wheel, jack-knifed across the grass in front of the office. “If this is the _best_ motel, I’d hate to see the worst.”

“Park around behind that office building,” Puck directs him. “It looks totally empty, though.”

Kurt nods and pulls the Nav behind the office. “We busting in, or do you want to look for keys?”

“Keys. Zombies aren’t real good at picking locks, I figure.”

The Best Motel’s office is unlocked and empty, no blood or signs of zombies. Puck starts grabbing keys and stuffing them in his pockets. Kurt spots the mini-fridge underneath the counter and opens it to find a few bottles of water, a six pack of Diet Pepsi with five cans still remaining, and a fabric lunch bag embroidered with ‘Laurie’. 

“Wonder what Laurie planned to eat today?” Kurt asks aloud, as he looks through the bag. “Salad with grilled chicken, cup of grapefruit. Ooh, sugar free pudding cup! I think Laurie was dieting.”

“Hopefully the dressing’s not that fat-free shit, then,” Puck snorts, turning from where he’s pulled all the keys from their pegs. 

“Lite raspberry-walnut vinaigrette,” Kurt says, holding up the pouch of dressing. 

“Laurie should’ve been planning to eat more.” Puck shakes his head and peers out the door before leading the way back down to the stairs. “We’ll check the rooms back here first.”

“So grumpy,” Kurt giggles, holding Laurie’s lunch bag. “If you promise to be nicer, I’ll feed you some spoonfuls of jam later.”

“Feed them to me, huh?” Puck stops in front of the door to one of the rooms and grins at Kurt over his shoulder. “Which flavor?”

“The depends on how much nicer you plan to be.” Kurt returns Puck’s grin with the most innocent expression he can muster. 

“How nice I can be, hmm,” Puck muses, the grin morphing into a smirk as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. “Well, that’s a good question. And a surprisingly clean room.”

“I’m checking for bed bugs and then I’m taking a shower,” Kurt announces. “And then I’m putting on clean clothes.”

“Yeah, we’ve only been wearing these for a day,” Puck says. “And we don’t need to unload everything. Just the guns and ammo and a little bit of food.”

“Well,” Kurt huffs. “Maybe you feel as fresh as spring rain, but I’m filthy. At the very least, I’m taking a shower and rinsing out my shirt. It has _smears_ of something on it.”

Puck rolls his eyes. “Knock yourself out.” He flops onto the bed and hits the remote. “Hey, the pay-per-view must be automated.”

“Do _not_ put on porn!”

“What if it’s _gay_ porn?” Puck fires back. “This could be your last chance to watch it, remember?”

“Oh, let me count all the reasons why this isn’t going to happen!” Kurt says, turning on the shower. “One,” he calls out from the bathroom as he pulls off his shirt and holds it under the warming shower spray. “It’s _gay_ porn. You know that means it won’t have a single boob, right?”

Puck chuckles like Kurt’s said something particularly funny. “That’s your objection? That you think I wouldn’t enjoy it?”

“I just think it’s highly unlikely we’ll find a show we can both agree on,” Kurt says. “Two,” he says, a little louder, “my standards are probably much higher than those of the Best Motel’s pay-per-view service.”

“Okay, I’ll grant you number two,” Puck calls back. “It’s probably the really ugly guys, anyway.”

“And _three_ ,” Kurt shouts over the sound of the water as he steps into the shower. “Of all the people in the world I’d watch porn with, the guy who refuses to take a shower or change his shirt isn’t high on my list!” 

“So what if I just take my shirt off?” Puck yells back, laughing. “I’d hate to stand in the way of your last chance.”

“Hey, maybe we’ll make it to Canada and it’ll be both zombie free and a Mecca of tasteful, artsy French-language porn,” Kurt retorts. He’d love to stay under the shower until all the hot water runs out, but a quick rinse is probably more prudent, given their circumstances, so he shuts the water off and grabs one of the two towels from the rack over the toilet. He leaves his wet shirt hanging over the shower bar, but pulls his underwear and jeans back, and walks back into the room, still toweling off his hair. “You sure you don’t want a turn? I saved you some hot water. I think, anyway.”

“Maybe later,” Puck concedes. “Think we might should go up to the Home Depot and get some chain, though. We could put it across the front and we’d at least hear them coming.” Puck looks up and smirks, giving Kurt a once-over. “Up for a field trip?”

“First porn, then chains? I’m starting to feel propositioned here,” Kurt says. “But sure. I’ve got that flannel shirt in the Nav.”

“You don’t think you’d look more badass, fighting zombies half-dressed?” Puck grins and stands up from the bed, walking over to the door and looking out the window and the peephole both for a moment before unlocking it.

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #9: The gun don't shoot straighter 'cause you're clean.**

People always say cleanliness was next to godliness, like being clean is some kind of virtue. Getting clean uses up water, though, and space for soaps and shit, and in the end, they're just going to get dirty again, probably pretty fast. Clearing roads, stealing food and supplies, shooting zombies: these are not clean jobs. Dirt's gonna build up under Puck's nails, on his boots, on his arms, on his neck and his head. The guns don't care, though; as long as he shoots straight and treats the gun nice, it's gonna do its job. 

More dead zombies. Dirty Puck. He'll take it.

  



	6. Chapter 6

Kurt wakes up with his arms wrapped around Puck’s rifle and Puck’s arms wrapped around him— _and_ the rifle. Kurt reaches out towards the bedside table and fumbles across the surface until he finds his phone. 5:30. They should probably get up and start getting ready for the next leg of their trip, but it’s the first time in the last few days that Kurt hasn’t felt some combination of exhausted or terrified, and maybe another fifteen minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Twenty minutes or so pass before Puck’s breathing changes, and he moves a little, his arms squeezing a bit. Another minute passes, and Puck stiffens for a few seconds before sagging into the bed and Kurt’s back a little. “Right. Fucking zombies,” he mutters quietly. He exhales and lies there for a moment, not moving his arms. “You awake?” he finally asks. 

“If I say no, can we go back to sleep until this is over?” Kurt answers.

Puck laughs. “Too late.” He rolls onto his back, removing his arms from around Kurt but taking the rifle with him. “Time to find breakfast and gasoline. Well. Once it’s a little lighter.”

“I’m going to shave,” Kurt says. “I might even do my hair,” he adds, sitting up. “Why not, if we’ve got the time?”

“Sure,” Puck says, sounding like he’s humoring Kurt. “Guess I’ll take that shower you wanted me to take, since we need to wait another thirty minutes or so at least.”

“Brush your teeth, too, unless that’s your new zombie-killing plan.”

“You found me out.” Puck swings his legs off the bed and stands up, walking towards the bathroom and pulling his shirt off as he does so. “Bad breath and dirt-covered clothes.”

If Kurt happens to pause and admire Puck’s back while he’s pulling off his shirt, that’s only because Puck’s in his line of view and there’s nothing else in the motel room to look at, or something like that. Puck props the rifle against the doorframe and steps into the bathroom, starting the water running. Kurt drops his toiletries bag onto the counter and starts running the warm water in the sink, pointedly not watching Puck undressing and getting into the shower. 

“So, what for breakfast, do you think?” Kurt asks, his voice loud enough to carry into the shower. 

“One of those fast-food places. Should still have all their cold stuff good. Yogurt, salad, maybe some dry cereal or something. Juice. OJ’d be good.”

“I’d murder for a sausage biscuit,” Kurt says, with a sigh. “Honestly. I’d kill you and leave your body in the shower right now if someone would give me a hot sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll look over my shoulder if we find a fully-functioning McDonald’s then,” Puck snorts. “But we can probably manage the coffee. Some of the bottled water and there was a machine in the office.”

“We’ll honeymoon at Niagara Falls,” Kurt calls back.

“Really? I figured you’d hold out for Poconos!”

Kurt snorts to himself, rinsing out his razor. “You did? Those champagne glass hot tubs are _so_ déclassé. Sorry to disappoint.”

The water stops and Puck’s hand grabs a towel before he steps out from behind the curtain, towel around his waist. “I’m heartbroken,” he says, frowning. “I wanted the complimentary Chocovine.”

“We’ll make that our top priority, next time we raid a liquor store,” Kurt promises. “Hate to add heartbreak to zombies and constant fear of a grisly death.”

“I agree.” Puck smirks and pulls on his same dirty underwear and jeans. “We _should_ change socks,” he admits. “We can wash ‘em out tonight, but fresh socks every day.”

“Fresh socks _and_ underwear,” Kurt says. “They’re easy to wash in the sink.” His shirt from the previous day dried overnight, so he puts it back on, then ties his dad’s flannel shirt around his waist. 

Puck appears to consider that for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, chafing would kinda suck. We should pick up some jock itch cream, come to think of it.”

“Or at least some baby powder,” Kurt says in agreement. 

“Yeah,” Puck says, nodding once, but he walks towards his discarded shirt, rifle in hand, without another word. He crosses to the window and looks around the edge of the curtains. “No Zombies. No Assholes, either. Starting to get grey, so.” He looks at the keys next to the TV. “Leave the keys back in the office?” 

“For the next Assholes who come along?” Kurt asks. “Yeah, sounds good. Besides, I believe you promised me some coffee.”

“Right.” Puck smiles briefly, grabbing all of the keys and pocketing them, then moving the furniture from in front of the door. “Ready?”

“I was born ready,” Kurt answers, theatrically, with a beaming smile. 

That gets a grin that sticks around for a few seconds longer, and then Puck flips the deadbolt and opens the door. “Water first,” he says, nodding to the side, and then walks down the sidewalk almost silently. “Weird how there’s none of ‘em. Guess they went in search of a more sure thing.”

“How bad do you think Toledo’s going to be?” Kurt asks. 

“At this point, better if it’s bad. Too many Assholes around and they might set up a roadblock or something,” Puck answers, stopping before they round the corner and peering around it before continuing towards the Nav. “Rather see Eatens than Zombies, though.”

Kurt nods. “What...” he starts, then catches himself.

Puck looks at him questioningly, grabbing five or six bottles of water from the now-unlocked Nav. “Yeah?”

“What do we do after? After Toledo. What’s next?” Kurt asks. “Is this it? From now on, it’s going to be just like this?”

“We’ll need to find some place more permanent before it gets too cold. Defensible, plenty of storage.” Puck leads them back to the office and turns on the coffee maker. “Power’s going to go out sooner or later.” He cracks a grin. “Find us a nice Amish farm, maybe, where the farmer split his firewood for the winter already.”

At least Puck has a plan, which is more than Kurt can say for himself, but Kurt isn’t sure that the potential of a lifetime of running and hiding isn’t the more likely alternative. “That sounds like a nice plan,” Kurt finally says. 

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Puck shrugs. “I mean, eventually the Zombies’ll die again, or eat each other, or something, right? But that could be years. And if they don’t, well, at least we’ll still be alive. That’s a point for the Assholes.” He grins wryly. 

They drink their coffee from the two mugs they find in the office—one says ‘Laurie’ and the other has a cartoon horse and says ‘Rode Hard & Put Up Wet’—and leave the keys on the table, then they’re back in the Nav and rolling down Ohio 25. Before long, they see the ubiquitous golden arches on the horizon, and Kurt steers the Nav into the McDonald’s parking lot, backing it into the loading bay, as close to the doors as they can get.

Predictably, the door is unlocked, and Puck leads them into the restaurant, rifle at the ready. The reason for the unlocked door becomes clear pretty quickly, when Kurt almost stumbles over a dead McDonald’s employee—or what’s left of him, anyway, which is just a head, torso, and upper arms. Kurt’s seen a lot of bodies at this point, but up until now, they’ve largely been at least a few yards’ distance. This one’s intestines trail out of its torso, and its blood is on Kurt’s boot, and Kurt only recognizes that the strange whiny noise is coming out of him when it’s followed by violent retching, as he vomits his two cups of coffee all over the remains in front of him. 

“UnHappy Meal,” Puck says with a shrug, stepping around the mess and nudging Kurt to do the same. “They ran out of toy with purchase by now.”

Kurt responds with another round of vomiting, then he wipes his mouth with a few McDonald’s napkins and gives the now even-grosser body a wide berth. The rest of the restaurant is trashed, garbage cans knocked over, tables overturned—even though they look like the kind that’s generally bolted in—and bodies. Lots of bodies, some in uniforms and some in regular clothes. Kurt has the random thought that he’s thankful that this isn’t one of the McDonald’s with a playground, because that would just put him beyond his ability to cope this morning. 

“I hate to be rude by just grabbing our food and going,” Puck says, slowly turning in place near the counter, “but they have these handy bags for the drive-thru, so I’m going to suggest we be rude.”

“You go ahead and be rude,” Kurt manages to croak out. “I’m not hungry.”

Puck shrugs. “Okay. But it’s time to eat, so you eat anyway. Don’t really care if you’re hungry or not.”

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #10: Eat when it's time to eat. It's not optional.**

The way Puck sees it, maybe Taco Bell was right. Fourth meal and all that shit, because it turns out that fighting Zombies makes them hungry. More than that, for now, they've got good food. Puck's not stupid; he knows the basics of good nutrition. He used to ignore them, too, but they can't afford to do that, not now. Food's gonna keep them alive, gonna keep them healthy, because if they get sick, they might be screwed, even with all the drugs they lifted. And they can't afford to get hungry, to let their stomachs get empty, not now. It doesn't matter how gross the zombies are or what they've witnessed just before mealtime. As long as they have food, they need to eat it. Even if they think they aren't hungry.

  


It doesn’t take long before they each have several drive-through bags full of portable food, and Puck starts leading the way back out to the Nav. Like he usually does, Puck opens the door and takes a cautious step out, rifle first. From inside the McDonald’s, Kurt can see him freeze.

“Sorry, they’re out of Big Macs,” Puck says, his voice a little too casual. 

An older-sounding male voice responds, “You alone, boy?”

“I hate disappointing people,” Puck answers, and to someone who doesn’t know Puck, he might legitimately sound contrite. “Nav’s ours. We’ll just be out of your way. There’s plenty of food still in there.”

“Looks like plenty of food out here, too,” the other voice says. At that point, Kurt steps outside, rifle already cocked. “You got a little friend, huh? Two of you look like smart enough boys.”

“Still aim for the face,” Puck says coolly to Kurt. 

Kurt looks at the older man and his two companions. “Dibs on the short one,” he says to Puck. 

“Like you could hit the side of a barn,” the third guy laughs. “Did you pick the rifle ‘cause it was the longest one there?” He turns to the other two. “Let’s just swap vehicles with them.”

The older man, the one who seems to be the leader, has a pistol tucked into his pants, and the short one has a shotgun, but that seems to be the sum of their easily available weaponry. Kurt glances over at Puck and sighs dramatically, overemphasising the movement to make sure the three men see it. 

“They think they’re stealing my baby,” Kurt says, sadly, then he pulls the trigger. The round clips the short man in the shoulder, and suddenly there’s a flurry of movement and screaming and bleeding, and Kurt screams, “Don’t touch my shit!”

Puck starts to laugh, and while the other two are clustered around the bleeding man, Puck grabs Kurt’s hand and pulls him towards the Nav. “That was hot. But I said aim for the face,” he adds, still grinning.

“I did,” Kurt hisses under his breath. “I missed.”

“Still worked out okay,” Puck says, letting go of Kurt’s hand and hurrying to the passenger side. “Let’s get out of here. We can go a mile or two and then pull over to eat.”

As soon as Puck’s inside the Nav, Kurt cranks up the engine and peels out of the parking lot. He doesn’t even look in the sideview mirror. “Suddenly, my appetite is back,” he says.

“Funny how that works,” Puck agrees, still grinning. “I’d say we need some target practice, but maybe we should stop if we see any loner Zombies, use them as targets.”

Kurt nods. “Always the damn shoulder,” he mutters. 

“Did you see what they were driving?” Puck says. “Older model sedan. Toyota, but still. I guess the short guy has to sit in the back, but either way, not much cargo space.” He shakes his head. “I give ‘em four more days.”

“He didn’t even have his weapon drawn!” Kurt makes a noise of disgust. “Amateurs.”

“Doubt they have a good plan for food after the restaurants start running out. Or the power goes out.” Puck shakes his head. “Well, if we find an abandoned gas station, we can tank up and eat at the same time.”

They do find an abandoned gas station another two or three miles up 25. Puck stands guard while Kurt swipes the gold card through the slot in the pump, and starts filling the Nav’s tank. “How much longer do you think this will work?” Kurt asks. 

Puck shrugs. “Maybe one more day? After you finish I’m gonna check for another can or two to fill up.”

“Get some candy, too,” Kurt says. “Gum. Mints. _Chocolate._ ”

“What’s that old song? ‘Oh, honey. Oh, sugar, sugar.’” Puck grins and salutes as Kurt finishes filling the Nav, heading for the main building. 

The gas pump is one of those obnoxiously slow ones that takes forever to fill the tank, and it’s still not full when Kurt sees the man walking across the street. It only takes Kurt two or three seconds to register the blood on the man’s suit, and mentally shift from _that’s a man_ to _oh fuck, that’s a zombie_. He grabs his rifle and takes a deep breath, aiming for the face and firing. 

Kurt’s first shot clips the side of the zombie’s head, and it stumbles, but doesn’t stop. Kurt forces himself to hold the rifle steady, firing again, and this time the round takes the zombie through its left eye, blowing most of its face off in the process. 

“Nice shot,” Puck calls, exiting the building with two plastic bags stuffed full of candy, and two gas cans hanging off a new coil of rope. “Let’s fill these up and get out of here, in case more of them heard the shot, though.”

Kurt checks the gas pump; while he was dealing with business suit zombie, it finally clicked off, so he takes the nozzle out of the Nav and sticks it into the first gas can. He grins up at Puck. “I aimed for the face.”

“I saw,” Puck says, returning the grin. “Someone had cleared out all the mints, but left the gum and the chocolate,” he adds, opening up the Nav to put the two bags inside. He closes the door and walks around to the front of the Nav, leaning against the hood and standing oddly. “Stole a map of Toledo and surrounding, too.”

“It’s not stealing,” Kurt says primly. “It’s liberating, remember?”

“I never figured out what made something a ‘dry good’ actually,” Puck admits, taking the now-full gas cans and the rope and adding them to the gas cans already decorating the roof of the Nav. “Is a map a dry good?”

“I think dry goods are just things you can eat that don’t squish when you pack them,” Kurt suggests. 

“Maybe so.” Puck cuts the rope off and climbs down. “Let’s have some gourmet breakfast and hit the road.”

They actually end up eating while driving, because Kurt’s ready to be rid of Bowling Green entirely, even if the promise of Toledo isn’t a particularly uplifting one. The next ten miles or so take them past an assortment of fields and houses, but the road is mostly clear and they make good time. As they get closer to the city, though, the roads become more congested, and Kurt once again finds himself weaving between cars and the occasional body. One or both of them have to get out and clear wreckage or move stalled cars a few times, though Puck seems to view these stops as an opportunity to scavenge for more supplies. 

Puck pops back out of a Mini Cooper with a huge grin on his face. “Heads up!” he says, then tosses a small package at Kurt. Kurt catches it and looks down at it, to see that Puck has managed to find him some mints after all. 

“Thanks!” Kurt pockets the mints and they continue driving. They make another stop at a roadside stand to pick over the fruits and vegetables. Most of the smaller fruits are spoiled, but Kurt finds a few tomatoes that are still in good condition, as well as a few yellow squashes, a carton of beets, and one oddly-shaped zucchini. Puck hands over a small acorn squash, then goes behind the table and bends over. 

“Told you I’d find you another one,” he grunts. 

“Another what?” 

Puck stands up, hoisting a large watermelon. “Watermelon.” He shakes his head. “Let’s put it in the Nav, ‘cause if we have to leave _two_ watermelons behind, I think you really might shoot me.”

“No, I’ll save the murder for the sausage biscuit,” Kurt says. “I might leave you on the side of the road, though.”

“Harsh,” Puck sighs, loading the watermelon in the back. 

“What can I say?” Kurt tosses over his shoulder. “I’m high-maintenance like that. Get used to harsh penalties.”

Puck grins and shuts the back of the Nav. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The roads just continue to get worse, and by the time they cross over I-475, Kurt has to slow the Nav to around fifteen or twenty to get around the cars and other debris. They see surprisingly few bodies, considering the amount of dried blood smears on the blacktop and in the grass, but the number of zombies increases the closer they get to the river. Kurt keeps them going as fast as they can; there’s no question now of stopping at any of the restaurants or gas stations lining the road, not with clumps of zombies shuffling around the buildings.

“Guess Toledo got it bad,” Kurt says under his breath. 

“Damn,” Puck mutters. “Whole pharmacy back there. What are they even looking for?” He snorts. “I know, they aren’t looking for anything, but.”

“I haven’t seen any bodies, really,” Kurt says. “Maybe they’re hungry.”

“Well they can keep on going then. We aren’t their next meal.”

Shortly up the road, Ohio 25 splits, with a grassy median between the north and southbound lanes. Both directions are clogged with the remnants of a traffic jam-turned-accident, and Kurt has to drive up the median. Another road splits and crosses over 25, and as Kurt’s maneuvering on and off of the grass, Puck swears. 

“Guess they think we _are_ a meal,” he growls, rolling his window down just a bit more and sitting sideways, rifle aimed to the side and behind them. He fires three shots in rapid succession, then looks over at Kurt. “Getting clear soon?”

“Define clear,” Kurt shoots back. “Doing the best I can here!”

“Faster than ten?” Puck shrugs. “Enough they can’t keep up?” He leans to the side again and fires twice more, then swears and reaches behind him for a shotgun. “Gotta fucking reload the rifle.” 

The road curves to the left ahead, and looks like it might be clearer, so Kurt says, “Maybe a little better up there.” Sure enough, as the Nav passes over the railroad tracks, the road is almost magically clearer than it was behind them. Kurt punches it, leaving their zombie entourage behind as they approach the turn to US Route 20. The extra lane on 20 means they’re able to pick up a little speed, though Kurt holds his breath until they cross the river without incident. 

On the other side of the river, driving turns into a more of a maze than anything else. Kurt turns up two blocks, then back down three, then back onto 20, weaving through buildings to avoid clusters of zombies or road blockages. Twice, Kurt hits a dead end and has to turn around, and one of those times, they find themselves boxed in by several zombies. Kurt grits his teeth and guns it, closing his eyes at the moment of impact and then opening them to swerve sharply, flinging the crushed zombie off his hood. 

Once they’re clear again, Kurt turns on the windshield wipers, washing off the smear of blackish blood and who knows what else that came out of the zombie.

“Nice driving,” Puck says admiringly. 

“If I let it go straight over the top, it might have knocked off your gas cans,” Kurt says. “And, thanks.”

Puck grins. “Yep, me and my gas cans.”

“Hey, you guys are my only company, and the gas cans are cleaner,” Kurt says, straight-faced. After a moment, though, he cracks a smile at Puck. “Only marginally cleaner, though.”

“Yeah, but I’m a better conversationalist.” Puck smirks and turns to grab a box of shells, reloading the rifle and the shotgun. “Guess it’s time to start taking multiple weapons when we leave the Nav.”

“Such a lovely town,” Kurt sighs. “How much further?”

“Mileage wise? Maybe ten miles. Who knows how long it’ll take, though.” Puck shrugs philosophically. 

Kurt sees movement ahead, and then a minivan with its hazards on enters their line of sight, heading in the opposite direction. The minivan is followed closely by a compact car, and a pickup truck with a tarp over the bed tails them. The small caravan of vehicles doesn’t stop, but as they pass the compact, a small child in the back seat waves at them.

“I’m not sure if they’re heading in the right direction or wrong direction at this point,” Kurt says. 

“Guess it depends on their plan,” Puck replies. They drive for another five or so minutes before Puck speaks again. “I’ll be goddamned.” He shakes his head. “Zombies on roller skates.”

“You’re shitting me,” Kurt says, but as he looks out Puck’s window, that’s exactly what he sees. Outside a large white building, with a sign declaring it ‘Ohio Skate’, several zombies flail on the ground or lean against cars, all of them with roller skates on their feet. Kurt chokes back a giggle, but soon, he can’t contain it any longer and he’s laughing so hard he can’t quite catch his breath. “That,” he gasps, “is the most horribly ridiculous thing I have ever seen.”

“I’m taking a picture!” Puck declares, pulling out his own phone and snapping a few shots while he chuckles. “Gotta remember that.”

Kurt wipes his eyes. “Not sure I’ll ever forget it.”

“Now we know you won’t,” Puck says, putting his phone away. “We shoulda been making a scrapbook, you know. The Best Motel. Earl and Phil’s lunches. The Assholes at McDonald’s.”

“Such fond memories,” Kurt sighs. “No, wait. The opposite of that.” 

The next few miles are fairly smooth sailing. One long stretch is mostly car dealerships, which apparently means fewer people, and soon they’re passing under I-80/90. Immediately past the highway, however, Kurt has to jerk the Nav hard to the left to avoid the huge swarm of zombies on the right side of the street, in front of the Reynold’s Shopping Plaza. The Plaza parking lot is teeming with them, but again, Kurt can’t see any of what even he is starting to think of as ‘Eatens’. It’s just zombies, no bodies, and Kurt speeds up to leave them behind.

“Stop,” Puck says suddenly about a mile north of the Turnpike. “On the left, there.”

“Food or weapons?” Kurt asks, slowing the Nav. 

Puck looks over and grins. “You know, when I packed up, there were only two things I couldn’t justify carrying. I’d like to fix one of those.”

Kurt pulls into the parking lot and shakes his head. “Musical instruments? Sure, why not?”

“Hey, a good acoustic doesn’t need any power, either,” Puck points out, grabbing a shotgun and his rifle. He looks around again and then climbs out of the Nav, walking over to the door. “Lights still on and everything.” The door pushes open as soon as he tries it, and he looks at Kurt briefly. “Stay out here? If either of us shoots.”

Kurt nods and holds up the pistol. “Got it,” he says. He gets out of the Nav with his rifle on his back and the pistol in hand, and he alternates between watching the road and scanning along the parking lot and buildings. A few zombies wander around in the street back the way they came, but they don’t head in Kurt’s direction and they aren’t close enough to shoot. 

Puck returns less than five minutes after he walked in, holding a guitar and three cooler bags in addition to his guns. “Lunch,” he says with a grin. “But we’ll save the concert for later.”

“Oooh, who do I get to be today?” Kurt asks, as they’re getting back into the Nav. “Phil was a good call, but Laurie was something of a bust.”

“We have ‘Stone’, ‘Rocky’, and ‘Sharona’,” Puck announces. “Excellent names, all, don’t you think?”

“You take Stone, I’ll take Rocky, and we’ll share Sharona like the gentlemen we are,” Kurt suggests. 

“Sounds good,” Puck agrees, handing the red cooler bag to Kurt and unzipping the green one. “Oh, I got a Lunchable! And a brownie.”

“Hmm. Some kind of wrap, and... Funions. I didn’t know people actually ate those!” Kurt frowns at the bag. “I’m glad you found those mints.”

“Yeah, me too,” Puck laughs. “And in bag number three...” he dramatically unzips the final cooler bag. “Fruit snacks.” He picks up the bag and tosses it behind them. “Those’ll keep. An apple, we can split that. And a lovely container of leftover...” he lifts the container up. “Something Mexican, anyway.” He grins and sets the food on the console. “What’s that French phrase? Bon something?”

“Bon appétit?” Kurt asks. “Saw a few of the living impaired up the road, so keep an eye on your mirror if you will, please.”

Puck snorts. “Living impaired, I like that.”

They finish their lunch just as the zombies start to shamble closer to the Nav, and then they’re zipping down the road again. Puck indicates a gas station ahead on the left, and directs Kurt to turn right on West Bancroft. Puck points at a small brick house with a long, empty driveway.

“He was renting the place,” Puck says. “Seemed to like it, though. Talked about how it had a full basement.” He laughs a little. “And there’s a Costco close by or something.”

“Convenient,” Kurt agrees. “Should we?” He gestures at the house. 

“Yeah.” Puck grabs his rifle and one of the shotguns, and climbs out of the Nav, looking around. “Quiet.” He walks up to the front door and tries it, then pulls out one of the Swiss Army knives from the gun store and uses one of the various tools on it to pick the lock. He pushes the door open and listens for a minute before stepping just inside the door. “Vince? Vince Puckerman?” he says, relatively quietly. There’s no response, and Puck steps farther into the house, motioning for Kurt to follow him.

Puck continues farther into the house, scanning each room and then walking down the hall. Kurt notices a few pictures hanging on the walls, children’s school photos, and then in the next room, a family portrait.

“Puck,” Kurt says. “I don’t think he’s here anymore. Look.” He gestures at the portrait of a chubby, smiling blond family. 

Puck stops and looks, frowning. “Yeah. I guess not.” He sighs. “Well, it was a long shot. Ol’ Vince never did like to stay anywhere too long. We should check out their kitchen, anyway.” He continues to the back of the house, opening the refrigerator. “Oh, hey!” Puck moves something inside the refrigerator. “Pepperoni and mushroom pizza. And...cake!” He pulls out two boxes and sets them on the counter before opening the freezer. “And ice cream. Party time.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starting with the cake,” Kurt says. 

“Ice cream, all the way,” Puck replies, sliding the pizza into the still-functioning microwave.

“I’m having both. It _is_ a party, right?” Kurt cuts himself a large piece of cake and scoops two spoonfuls of ice cream onto the plate next to it. 

“It is definitely a party,” Puck agrees, scooping a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. The microwave finishes heating the pizza, and Puck divides it in half. Just as he opens the refrigerator again, the light inside the fridge goes out and the soft humming of the kitchen electronics cuts off abruptly. 

“Well. I suppose there goes the power grid,” Kurt says. “Good timing on the pizza, at least.”

“Damn. Sort of was hoping it could hold out until tomorrow,” Puck admits. He lifts one slice of pizza and holds it up. “To batteries and gasoline.”

“Cheers,” Kurt says, tapping his pizza to Puck’s. “At least it happened during daylight hours.”

“True, true.” When Puck finishes his food, he goes through every cabinet in the kitchen, setting four cans on the counter by the end. “Well, a little bit more fruit. They weren’t big on eating at home, I guess.” He looks out the window. “We could find that Costco, maybe?”

“Costco’s pretty big, though. Could be a lot of zombies,” Kurt says. 

“Depending on what time it hit here, Costco might not’ve been open,” Puck points out. “And I think they have those roof shell things. We could pack the extra water and the extra canned stuff and, I don’t know, the winter clothes, all of that, up on the roof. Tie the gas cans around it.”

“Or we could get eaten trying to raid a place that’s full of zombies,” Kurt argues. “Plus, isn’t Costco the first place you’d go for supplies if you had one nearby?”

“They have gum. And mints.”

“Neither of which I want to get _eaten_ over!”

“Well, it can’t hurt to drive past it, right? Figure out what’s next, get more food. Maybe some extra socks and shit.”

“We’re going in there no matter what we find when we get there, aren’t we?” Kurt sighs. 

“Well, if a freak tornado swept it away, no,” Puck retorts. He frowns. “Let’s get going. I don’t know, we have to walk too far to the Nav from the door.”

Kurt nods and they make their way back out of the house with the small amount of food they found inside. For some reason—not there they need a specific reason, given the overall situation—Puck seems jumpier than he has been the last three days. They get into the Nav quickly, and as they start to back down the driveway, Kurt sees them. 

“Holy shit,” Kurt breathes. Just up the street, coming from the direction of Reynolds, is a mass of zombies. Twenty, thirty, it’s hard to tell, because they’re moving as a group and they’re moving fast. Kurt barely registers that they’re all dressed in what looks like church clothes before Puck is shouting at him.

“Drive! Go the other way, just go!”

Kurt drives across the yard, not even attempting to finish backing down the driveway, and heads east down West Bancroft. They’ve talked about not needing to look behind them, but Kurt does look in his sideview mirror. The zombies don’t stumble after them; they _run_ , and Kurt floors the Nav down the road. They drive for about a mile before Puck starts talking again. “Turn left here. Left now.”

Kurt turns left, and they drive down a street of houses before the Costco suddenly looms on the lefthand side of the street. “They’re not still behind us, are they?” Kurt asks. 

“Lost ‘em at the turn,” Puck answers. “Guess changing directions is beyond their abilities at the moment.”

“Where did they all come from? And they _ran_ , Puck. They were _running_.”

“Looked pretty fancy for Zombies, didn’t they? More...” Puck frowns. “More, well. Gross, too. Guess they’re getting hungry?”

“Maybe they’ve been trapped in a church since Sunday or something,” Kurt says, still panting slightly. “That was fucking terrifying. The Costco suddenly seems less intimidating.”

“Guess Jesus wasn’t a friend of theirs, after all.”

Kurt just snorts inelegantly, then turns to look at the Costco. “Looks pretty empty. Maybe you’re right and they didn’t open.”

“Awesome. No Eatens, no Zombies, and...doesn’t look like any Assholes, either.”

“How are we popping the lock?” Kurt drives the Nav right up to the front door. “If we can get it open, we could just drive right in, shut it up behind us.”

“I’ll do my best not to bust it, but if we have to shoot it, we can.” Puck frowns. “If we can lock it back, though, that’d be best.” He looks at the shotgun, frowns, and picks up the pistol, leaving shotgun and rifle propped against the dash. “Here goes.” He jumps out of the Nav, looks around, then heads towards the door, working on the lock for close to a minute before the door finally starts to roll upwards, and Puck waves Kurt in. 

Kurt lowers his window and props his rifle in it before he rolls the Nav into the Costco, and Puck pulls the door shut behind him. The skylights overhead provide a decent amount of light, and Kurt can’t see any movement. Nothing has been knocked off the shelves. In fact, it looks like nobody’s been inside of the Costco since before things went to hell. 

Kurt glances over at Puck, who looks almost giddy. Kurt rifles through his satchel for a moment and then hops out of the Nav walking over to Puck, where he tosses Puck the gold card. “Have fun, honey! Just don’t overspend!”

Puck catches the card and laughs, throwing his head back. “Look at it! It’s beautiful.”


	7. Chapter 7

“You don’t remember Y2K, Tina,” her dad says. “Everyone panicked over nothing. I’m sure this is more of the same.”

“Dad, the news isn’t broadcasting from anywhere in Ohio anymore!” Tina responds, frustrated. “And you won’t let me stay on CNN long enough to tell what’s going on everywhere else!”

“There are perfectly good movies and reruns on, and there’s no need to panic ourselves with watching the news. It’s all hyperbole.”

That’s Tina’s dad’s final word on the subject, and the next time he gets up to get more food, she grabs the remote and changes the channel to CNN. She gets a minute of commercials and maybe thirty seconds on an interview with an ‘infectious disease expert’ before her dad comes back and changes the channel right back to his movie. Even though she repeats the process at least four more times over the course of the afternoon, she never manages to get actual news footage, and by the the last time she watches CNN, she starts to think she’s already seen the exact same photo montage at least twice. 

Tina’s mom finally interrupts the stalemate, though it feels to Tina like she’s just trying to get Tina off their backs. “Tina, we need some groceries. If you go out, I’m sure that you’ll see things are perfectly fine.” 

Tina can’t think of a valid reason _not_ to go to the grocery store; she probably runs to the store for her mom and dad at least twice a week. So, five minutes later, Tina finds herself in her car, a list and cash pressed into her hand. At first, it does seem like her mom is right. As she drives through the neighborhood, nothing whatsoever looks at all different. Turning out of the neighborhood, though, makes her start to worry. There are cars stopped on the side of the road, and while the majority are still moving, they’re all moving slowly, cautiously navigating the streets. A lot of the drivers stop every ten to twenty feet and peer out their windshield almost anxiously, though Tina’s not sure what it would accomplish if they had warning of something horrible about to descend.

Still, it’s not until she has to completely stop four different times to go around accidents that she realizes this isn’t a simple trip to the grocery store. It’s taken her at least thirty minutes just to crawl maybe a mile, and while she hasn’t seen anything specifically wrong, it’s clear that things aren’t _right_. There are more and more abandoned cars as she travels on busier roads. Most of the accidents no longer have both drivers present at the scene. She hasn’t seen any of the actual zombie-like creatures that the news was showing, but she only saw a few seconds at a time, so maybe she really was worrying over nothing, or maybe she’s just not sure what she’s looking for or at. Tina can’t be sure, but she keeps her windows rolled up, her air conditioning blasting, and she’s glad she had the foresight to get gas after her and Mike’s date the night before. She doesn’t want to stop any more than she has to, not in this. 

Tina tries to call her mom after a bit, because it’s already dinnertime, and her mom had said they needed some of the groceries to make dinner. The call won’t go through, though, and when she examines her phone, instead of bars, it just says ‘no service’. By the time she finally reaches Ray’s and pulls into the parking lot, the scene in front of her is completely disturbing. 

The things moving around the parking lot are definitely _zombies_. Just like the flashes on the news, just like the grotesque creatures she’s seen on the big screen and in made-for-TV movies. Some of them are shuffling, a few are almost flopping, and a few of them are in small groups, bent over. It almost appears that they’re eating something as they’re bent over, and as one moves, Tina realizes what it is, exactly, that they are bent over. They _are_ eating it, but what they are eating is not an _it_. It’s a _who_ , or at least it was, and Tina sighs, hoping that whoever is lying on the ground didn’t suffer. 

Tina’s about to start her car again and leave when she sees someone else getting out of his car. The man looks around almost furtively and starts to walk quickly towards the door to Ray’s, and for whatever reason, he carries a large golf umbrella with him. When the three of the zombies approach him, he hits at them with the umbrella. One zombie falls down momentarily, but while he’s whacking at the second one, the third moves behind him and bites down on the man’s neck. He whirls and keeps trying to hit the zombies with his umbrella, including the one that bit him, but as Tina watches, his movements become less extreme, and too quickly, the umbrella drops from his hand. He falls to the ground just seconds later, his body spasming, and after the spasms pass, the man stills. Tina begins to think that the zombie somehow killed the man with a single bite, but the truth turns out to be far more alarming. 

The man suddenly stands back up, but instead of grabbing his umbrella and heading towards Ray’s or even his car, he too begins to shuffle, joining the three zombies that were attacking him just minutes ago, and the newly-formed group of four heads towards one of the fallen bodies. The man who had been carrying the umbrella, who is apparently now a zombie, bends down just like the others, starting to eat. 

Tina shudders and presses her hand to her mouth, trying hard not to throw up. She _can’t_ throw up; throwing up would mean either vomit in her car or opening her door to vomit, and neither one sounds like a good plan.

That’s all it takes, really; Tina turns her key, puts the car in drive, and heads towards home. It may have taken her nearly an hour to make the five-minute trip, but she’s going back, and her mom can just find something else to cook for dinner. 

Driving back is both similar to the trip out and definitely worse; there’s a lot more accidents and a whole lot more abandoned cars, along with a few clumps of oddly-armed people. Tina shakes her head, because even she knows that garden rakes aren’t going to help against zombies. There’s also a few more zombies; some are alone and some are with one or two other zombies, and once more on the way home she witnesses a man become a zombie.

It takes her two hours to get home, which means the sun’s already setting, and she hopes her mom and dad aren’t too worried. The neighborhood is eerily quiet; she drives slowly down her street, but no zombies appear. No one else does, either. When Tina pulls into her driveway, her front door is open. The television is still on, and she can hear it as soon as she gets out of her car, but no one responds to her quiet ‘hello’. 

Her house is empty. Her first action is to turn the television off, and she leaves the front door open while she inspects the house, listening carefully for any noise that indicates someone is coming inside. She finds nothing and hears nothing, so she locks the front door and then checks the house again. 

There’s no sign of her mom or her dad at all. She looks through her house like she’s on an episode of _NCIS: LA_ or _CSI:_ , but there’s no blood pools or signs of a struggle. On the other hand, both of their cars are still there, and nothing is missing from their house. Even their phones, admittedly useless at the moment, are still there. It’s as if her parents simply vanished into thin air, and she has no idea what any of it means.

Tina fixes a frozen pizza for herself and tries to watch a movie on the television. The news is no longer broadcasting, and only some of the cable channels come in. Still, there’s a decent Brat Pack movie on, and she tries to enjoy it. After about ten minutes, she mutes the volume, hoping it will keep her from jumping at noises, but it doesn’t work. She’s sure the noises are just squirrels or birds outside, but as the last of the light from the sun disappears, Tina turns off the television, double-checks the locks, and flips off all the lights before falling into bed, strangely exhausted. 

 

When Tina wakes up on the second day, she fixes herself breakfast and then tries her phone again. Even though it says ‘no service’, she tries to call every single member of the glee club, past and present, including calling Mike twice. None of the calls go through. An hour after breakfast, she sees a few zombies shuffle down her street, a few of them almost recognizable as her neighbors. Or, she supposes, her former neighbors, because Tina’s quite tolerant, but she’s not going to call a zombie a neighbor.

She fixes herself the other half of the frozen pizza for lunch, and then decides that she can’t stay in her house forever, not when the news isn’t broadcasting, the newspaper wasn’t delivered, and technically, she should be at school. She tries to read for half an hour, then decide to walk around the neighborhood cautiously.

At first, Tina feels guilty when she takes the pistol and ammunition from Mr. Stiles’ house. She supposes she’s lucky that he wasn’t actually on duty when he disappeared or whatever, but there’s signs of an actual struggle in his house, and yet his service weapon is still put away. She takes his belt holster, too, and heads three houses down to the Todds’, because she remembers that both Mr. and Mrs. Todd like to go deer hunting. Their front door is unlocked and partially open, and she grabs two hunting rifles and four boxes of bullets before getting back outside. She knows the zombies are outside, but she still feels trapped whenever she’s in a house. 

Finally, before heading back to her house, she stops at Fred Cooper’s house, because she remembers that Fred’s on the baseball team. She takes his baseball bat, even though the umbrella wasn’t much help for the man at Ray’s. 

It’s mid-afternoon when she packs herself a small suitcase, two bags of food, and the medium-size cooler. Since she can’t use the phone to talk to Mike, she’ll just drive over to Mike’s house.

It takes her an hour and a half to make the drive to Mike’s; it usually takes her just ten minutes. There are blocked roads, necessitating detours, and a few bands of zombies to avoid. Most of the zombies are in groups of four to six, though she still sees some that are alone or with just one other zombie. 

She sees a few other moving cars, too, but she doesn’t stop or even slow down, and neither do the other vehicles. There are a few times that she’s certain she sees people in houses, watching out their windows, but again, no one calls attention to themselves. Tina’s certain that she’s far from the only person alive in Lima, but she feels desperately and completely alone.

Mike’s house looks normal. She thinks she can see a light on inside, maybe the flicker of the television, and she’s so excited she almost forgets to look around to see if there are zombies. Her hand is on the door, about to open it, when her eyes widen, and she holds very still while she looks in her rearview and sideview mirrors. 

There are four zombies walking slowly down the street, and Tina continues to stay still as they shamble by aimlessly. She waits another five minutes before grabbing her suitcase, food, and cooler, and then she hurries to Mike’s door.

When she raises her hand to knock, though, the door opens a little just from the force of her hand, and she bites her lip, trying not to cry. She puts her bags down and pats her hand on her waist, where Mr. Stiles’ gun sits in its holster, and she wonders if she should get the Todds’ rifles from her car. She decides not to, not when she doesn’t know when the next zombies might come down the road, and instead lets herself into the Chang house. 

She locks the door behind her, shivering a little as she does so. Every house she’s found so far with an open and unlocked door has been empty. There are definitely zombies outside. Still, she doesn’t know what’s inside Mike’s house, so she keeps her hand on the unfamiliar pistol.

“Hello?” Tina calls out. “Mike? Mr. Chang? Mrs. Chang?”

There’s no answer, even though she can hear the volume low on the television, and Tina feels herself start to suspect the worse. Walking into the kitchen confirms her fears; there are smears of _blood_ on the counters, the cabinets, and the floor, and as she races around the house, she finds more blood in the living room and in Mike’s parents’ bedroom. Three distinct places; three people missing. 

Tina runs for the toilet and pukes up every single thing that is in her stomach. 

She feels herself start to cry as she cooks herself dinner in the blood-smeared kitchen, and she continues to cry as she eats the dinner, the portion that would have been Mike’s sitting uneaten on a plate in front of his usual chair. Tears keep pouring down her cheeks as she washes the dishes and put them away, as she rechecks the locks, and as she turns off the Chang television for what she is sure will be the last time. 

When the house is dark except for the setting sun, Tina takes off her clothes and crawls into Mike’s bed, because his pillow and sheets still smell like him. The tears turn into sobs, and Tina cries herself to sleep. 

 

When she wakes up, the sun is streaming in through the windows, and it’s later than Tina’s slept since school started a week before. The incongruity of the thought strikes her almost immediately, and she starts to weep again. A week ago, she started her junior year of high school, and Mike started his senior year. Two days ago, on Sunday, the zombie apocalypse, or something like it, started, and now, on a Tuesday at the end of August, Tina is quite certain that her parents, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s parents are all either zombies or dead.

She pinches herself to make sure she’s still feeling pain, hoping in the back of her mind that this is all an enormous nightmare. It’s not, though, because she does feel pain and she doesn’t wake up. She’s still sitting alone in Mike’s bed, and she still has to decide what to do next. 

Tina’s stomach wins out, and she stumbles into the kitchen to eat more food before curling up in Mike’s bed again. After another nap, she digs through the laundry and finds one of Mike’s t-shirts, which she pulls on. When her stomach rumbles again, Tina goes back to the kitchen and cooks lunch, again staring at the extra portion that should have been Mike’s. She can’t decide what she should do, so she decides to fire up the Chang television one more time, putting on a movie. 

She manages to concentrate on the first hour of the movie, but Tina never will know if she could have maintained that concentration, because the power flickers once and then goes out. She waits for five minutes, half-expecting it to roar back to life, and then she realizes that no, it’s not going to come back on. She doesn’t know if a zombie bit a power line or if the people who needed to do things to keep the power on all became zombies, but either way, Tina is certain that the electricity has stopped flowing.

Tina slowly walks back to Mike’s room and sits on his bed, trying to decide what to do now. She’s going to have to leave Mike’s house. It’s that slow realization that makes her close her eyes and take long deep breaths. She’s unsure how long she sits there, just breathing, and finally she exhales heavily and opens her eyes. 

She hasn’t seen many zombies since she arrived at Mike’s, which is enough of a rationalization for spending one more night at the Chang house. One more night in Mike’s bed and in Mike’s room, surrounded by his things, pretending that he’s merely gone down the hall to get them each a pop. 

There’s still a few hours before the sun will set, though, and Tina spends it going through the Chang household for anything she might want or need. She takes Mike’s favorite dance mix CD, first, and then a picture of the two of them over the summer that Mike had tucked into his dresser mirror. She takes one of his hats, and from the Chang bookshelves, a few favorite books. Finally, she takes all the food in the kitchen that wasn’t in the refrigerator or the freezer, and when she’s done, she sets all of it, plus her own suitcase and bags of food, next to the front door. 

For the first time since it started, sleep eludes her, and she tosses and turns in Mike’s bed for hours. She feels trapped, and she jumps at ordinary creaks and animals noises outside. She finally falls into a fitful sleep, and she’s relieved when her watch finally reads 5:30. It’s not even dawn, but it’s close enough to dawn that she can get up and take a cold shower and eat a cold breakfast, and go through Mike’s house one last time. 

When she’s dressed, she picks up Mike’s hat and puts it on, then studies herself in the mirror. The gun on her belt makes an interesting counterpoint to the hat, she decides, shaking her head at herself. When she’s loaded her trunk and the backseat, she walks back to Mike’s room and closes her eyes. 

“Good-bye, Mike,” she whispers out loud. “I love you. May you rest in peace.”

Tina wipes a few stray tears from her eyes and stumbles out of Mike’s bedroom, stopping to get Mike’s keys from the hallway, so she can lock the house behind her. Even if Mike and his parents are gone, she still doesn’t like the idea of someone else invading their home. She tosses the now-useless keys in the backseat, locks her doors, and drives away from Mike’s house. 

The only plan Tina could think of as she tossed around in Mike’s bed was to check on the rest of the glee club. Artie’s house is closest to Mike’s, so it seems wise to start there. The drive is quick by zombie-standards, just twenty minutes, and as soon as Tina pulls up in front of the house, she has her answer. 

There is barely a front door left. There are a few splinters pointing into the yard, and a few inches around each hinge, but otherwise, the Abrams house is lacking any barrier to prevent incursion by zombies or other people. Tina turns off the engine anyway, because part of her has to _know_. She also gets out because she remembers that Artie’s dad bought a flat of bottled water every Sunday morning for the week ahead, and if Tina is lucky, then she will be able to add a flat of bottled water to her measly stash of three 20-ounce bottles and two 8-ounce bottles. 

She picks up the rifle for the first time since she loaded it into her car and loads it with the bullets, then climbs out of her car. Tina stands next to her for a long minute, enjoying the feel of the early morning sun on her face and the wind blowing through her hair. She should be standing at her locker right now, talking to her friends, waiting for the bell to ring for first period. Not investigating her friends’ houses for signs of zombies—or signs of life. 

Tina tries not to look around Artie’s house. She spent time in Mike’s house, and that was the hardest thing she’s ever done; she isn’t up to memorializing each of her friends the same way. She can’t help but go to Artie’s room, though, and she rifles through one of his drawers until she finds the sweater she gave him for Christmas, freshman year, and his favorite sweater vest. She pulls out his favorite trilogy of books, too, and carries them out to the car on top of the flat of water. The Abrams house is empty of life, and that’s all the answer she needs at the moment. 

Tina is nearly to Brittany’s house before she remembers that Brittany and Santana, like all the other Cheerios, were somewhere out of town with Coach Sylvester over the weekend. Tina can remember Santana complaining about it, because there was a party she really wanted to go to, on Saturday night, and Brittany had been fretting about leaving Lord Tubbington. 

It’s the memory of Brittany’s worries that sends Tina the rest of the way to Brittany’s house. If Lord Tubbington is stuck in the house, Tina can at least make sure he makes it outdoors. Lord Tubbington isn’t declawed, so in theory, he could survive as an outdoor cat. 

When she gets to Brittany’s house, though, it looks completely normal, and feeling ridiculous, she stands in front of the door, rifle in hand, and knocks. 

“Tina!” Brittany’s mom beams at her. “Oh, it’s lovely to see you. Brittany would be so glad you’re here, but she’s off in California with the rest of the Cheerios, you know.”

Tina nods slowly, because Brittany’s mom doesn’t act like anything’s wrong. At the same time, Brittany’s mom doesn’t seem to think Tina holding a rifle is anything odd, either. “I do know,” she agrees. “I just...thought I would check on Lord Tubbington for her. I didn’t want him to be trapped inside, if....” She trails off, because there’s not a good way to tell an adult you thought they were probably dead.

“Oh, you’re a dear. Well.” Brittany’s mom sighs, and suddenly the cheerful smile fades. “I put him outside yesterday after the power went out, Tina. I think you and I both know—" She stops abruptly. “I’m serving brunch in ten minutes,” she announces. “We’ve been cooking in the fireplace. If you’d like to look around Brittany’s room until then, I think that would be fine.”

Tina bites her lip and nods a little, walking down the hall to Brittany’s room. She takes a picture of all the girls in New York, last year, and then idly looks through Brittany’s closet. She needs something, but she isn’t sure what, and then finally she picks up a bright turquoise leather belt. She puts it on instead of her own belt, making sure the holster sits correctly, and then she joins Brittany’s mom and dad for brunch: fire-cooked sausage links, oatmeal, and slices of watermelon. When the food is all gone, she stands up and hugs both of them. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Brittany’s mom says with the same bright, fake smile. 

With that, Tina gets back into her car and breathes deeply. She thinks about going to Puck’s house, but she isn’t sure where, exactly, he actually lives. Mercedes and Santana both are quite a distance from Brittany’s house, by Lima standards, and she’s contemplating trying to drive to Mercedes’ house anyway when she realizes that Finn and Kurt are actually the closest. 

‘Closest’ turns out to be a relative term; she has to detour three times because of wrecked cars, and Tina doesn’t look closely into the interior of the cars. She reverses two additional times when she sees groups of zombies, because she hasn’t actually _fired_ the rifle yet. By the time she turns onto their street, she’s extraordinarily grateful to Brittany’s mom for brunch, and she tears open a granola bar as she parks in Finn and Kurt’s driveway. 

From the outside, their house looks almost exactly like it did the last time she was there. It’s the middle of the afternoon, almost, so Tina wouldn’t even expect any lights to be on. There’s no damage to any of the doors, no blood nearby, and she hasn’t seen any zombies for at least two blocks. Tina grabs the rifle and sprints for the front door. The weirdest part about all of this is how she still feels compelled to knock.


	8. Chapter 8

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #11: Rules need flexibility.**

Everything has a little room to bend. Well, maybe not everything, Puck thinks, but most things. He only lasted two days without his guitar before he took a risk to replace it, and that could have been stupid, too. They've been a little jovial, and Puck knows maybe he's been a little sentimental. They're handicaps, not going to help them survive, but maybe that's okay, because so far, Puck's alive and he's not losing his mind or feeling like offing himself. Puck never wanted to be the only one left standing at the end of the world; that'd be lonely. He definitely likes being one of the ones left standing, though.

  


Puck finds the roof shells, and it takes no small amount of arguing—and an actual demonstration of the impracticality, if not impossibility—to convince Puck that they can’t actually stack two or three roof shells on top of each other on the Nav. Puck stomps off and kicks things for a few minutes before coming back with another plan for how to rearrange things and maximize their space.

“Feel better after your tantrum?” Kurt asks, giggling. 

“I can always get rid of your watermelon,” Puck threatens, standing on the running board and loading winter gear into the roof shell. “It’s big, you know.”

“I can always lock you in a roof shell and leave you in the Costco,” Kurt retorts in his sweetest voice. “I’ll sit on it while I eat my watermelon.”

“You’re so sweet to me.” Puck looks over his shoulder and smirks. “Saw some cheesecake back there that was still cool to the touch, by the way.”

“Where?” Kurt hops up from where he’s been leaning against the Nav. “Take me to the cheesecake!”

Puck laughs and reaches into the Nav, then hands Kurt a fork. “Like I said, they’re still cool right now. Won’t last long, but.” He walks towards the rear of the store and then flourishes dramatically. “Tada!”

“This is either heaven or hell,” Kurt says, clapping his hands at the sight of the case full of cheesecake. “All this cheesecake, knowing it’s all going to spoil, and there’s no way I can eat it all.”

“Well. At least you can alleviate some of that guilt?” Puck says, popping open one of the cheesecakes. “Dessert before dinner.”

“Cheesecake counts as both. It’s _cheese_.” Kurt stabs his fork into the cheesecake and eats a huge bite. “This is so good.”

Puck grins and takes a bite of his own. “See? Costco’s not such a bad place. Saw some clothes and stuff, too. Maybe we should stay here tonight.”

“It’s kind of... big. And open.” Kurt frowns. “But I did see mattresses. We could drag some over to the Nav.”

“Get the Nav some fresh tires,” Puck suggests. “Get an early start.” He frowns. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Start loading the stuff we can’t live without tonight, just in case. That way if we have to cut and run, we have the stuff we need,” Kurt says. “Water, staples, all the weapons and ammunition that we aren’t carrying on us.”

Puck nods. “And then? Tomorrow?”

Kurt pokes the cheesecake with his fork again, then glances up at Puck. “I want to go back to Lima. I _know_ , we aren’t supposed to go back for things, but it’s _Finn_ , Puck. My dad said for us to look out for each other, and I... I just have to know. I need to find him, or his body, or something.”

Puck’s silent for a long time, taking a couple of bites of cheesecake and chewing them slowly. He appears to be considering a few different things, because every once in awhile he shakes his head or nods. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’m not quite ready to find that Amish farm yet, anyway. We go west of Toledo and then head south.”

“Good. Thank you. That’s... that’s really important to me.” Kurt eats a few more bites of cheesecake without looking at Puck, then says, “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I can’t eat any more cheesecake.”

Puck laughs for a second. “C’mon. There’s a big freezer back here. We’ll stick one of them in there and have it for breakfast.”

“Well, I suppose that since my sausage biscuit has yet to materialize, that will have to do,” Kurt agrees. “How many more aisles do we have left?”

“Well, we can skip the cleaning aisles. Really just a look through the outdoor stuff and then the few food ones at the front.” Puck laughs and packages up the cheesecake, walking to the big freezer. “Though maybe we should get garbage bags.”

“Good idea. If nothing else, we can use them as raincoats, right?”

“Hey, you’re the fashion guru. Is that the latest in zombie apocalypse wear?”

“Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be caught dead in it,” Kurt says, vamping a little for Puck’s benefit. “But it beats blood and guts.”

“Also beats doing laundry more often,” Puck agrees, leading the way over towards one of the remaining aisles. “Oh, man. I’m an idiot,” he groans, stopping in front of display of water hoses. 

“Once upon a time, I’d agree. Now, not so much,” Kurt says. “What’s wrong?”

“Siphoning. We could’ve been siphoning out gas. I mean, the pumps were still working, so I guess that was easier, but. We can siphon from some of these wrecks.”

“You’re not an idiot! You’re a genius!” Kurt says. “I never would have thought of that, and we didn’t need to while the pumps worked.”

Puck visibly holds himself taller and then grabs two of the hoses, slinging them over his shoulder. “Pretty sure we don’t have a use for a lawn sprinkler, though,” he says, looking down the rest of the aisle. “Time to hit those last food aisles.”

“Are pretzels a luxury item?” Kurt asks, as they start down the aisles. “They have salt, and that’s important, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and yes,” Puck answers with a grin. “Grab all of those bars, though. Pretty compact for that many calories and everything.” He pushes a cart lazily in front of him. “Probably can’t justify the potato chips, either.”

“Damn. They have salt and vinegar,” Kurt says, pouting. “One bag?”

“All that can fit in the console?” Puck offers. “Since the water bottles don’t really work in it.”

“I’ll carry a bag and then swap it out if I find something better,” Kurt agrees. “Maybe I’ll find some granola or something.”

Puck turns a corner and then stops abruptly. “Sweet! Look at all this jerky. They must’ve just restocked it.”

“They usually have a barbecue or other flavor jerky toward the endcap, too,” Kurt says. “Keep an eye out.”

“Awesome.” Puck grins at Kurt as he loads the jerky into the cart. “Once we find some place, we’re gonna have to sort everything out by expiration date.” He frowns. “‘Course, if we really do find a farm, we’ll mainly need this in the next six months.”

“You keep talking about that farm like you think I’m somehow going to be useful on it,” Kurt says, laughing at himself. “Or else you have plans to ditch me before you get to Amish country.”

“I figured we’d figure it out as we went.” Puck shrugs and continues to the next aisle. “I mean, milking a cow can’t be _that_ hard, right?”

“As the only one of us acquainted with boobs of any species, you’d be the one qualified to make that statement, I'm sure,” Kurt says. 

Puck laughs. “Never tried that, and not something to worry about at this point, either.” He shakes his head. “Now this? This is a tragedy.” He shakes his head. “So much candy, so little room in the Nav.”

“The mints come with us,” Kurt says. He looks at the various containers as he slowly walks down the aisle. “It pains me to say it, but the chocolate stays. Much too hot out there. Score!”

“What is it?”

Kurt holds up a large container. “Jelly beans! Not the crappy kind you get at Easter, either. Jelly Belly.” He sits down in the middle of the aisle and unscrews the lid. 

Puck shakes his head, grinning a little, and sits down next to Kurt. “We’ll eat in a nutritionally sound manner _after_ we leave the good stuff behind.”

“Fifty flavors, Puck!” Kurt exclaims, sticking one finger into the jar to move beans around, then plucking one up and eating it. “Bubble gum.”

“I always wondered if they put all fifty in for real,” Puck says, sticking his hand in and taking a handful. He studies them for a moment. “I only see seven or eight here,” he concludes, then tilts the entire handful into his mouth at once. 

Kurt lets out a shriek before he can stop himself. “That is not how you do it!”

“What?” Puck protests through his mouthful of jelly beans. 

“That’s not how you eat Jelly Bellies. You’re doing it wrong.”

“It’s the end of the world, Kurt. I can’t eat jelly beans...why?”

Kurt sighs. “They have subtle flavors best enjoyed one at a time, or in carefully constructed pairings.” He fishes around in the jar and picks up one bean. “Like so,” he says, before popping it into his mouth. “Dr. Pepper. What’s your mouthful taste like?”

“Sweet. Like a vacation in Hawaii,” Puck declares. 

Kurt fishes around in the jar again and comes up with a white bean and a pale yellow bean. “Now, just eat these two. _This_ will taste like Hawaii.”

Puck rolls his eyes but takes the two jelly beans from Kurt’s hand and pops them into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Pineapple and coconut. Okay.” He shrugs. 

“See? You can actually taste the flavors. It’s the end of the world. You don’t have to eat your candy like an oaf.” Kurt pulls out a few jelly beans, then pushes the jar to Puck. “Pick a couple out and make a flavor.”

“An oaf,” Puck scoffs, frowning at Kurt and pulling out two beans seemingly at random before popping them in his mouth. 

“Well? What’d you get?”

Puck smirks. “Root beer float.”

Kurt pulls his face into a pout again. “I can never tell the root beer apart from the coffee without tasting them. Root beer float is the best combo.”

“Yeah?” Puck asks, still slowly chewing the jelly beans. 

“Yes. I’m pretty sure it’s definitively the best two-bean combin—”

Puck leans forward, and his lips close over Kurt’s mid-word. Before Kurt can react, Puck runs his tongue over Kurt’s lips and then pushes it into Kurt’s mouth forcefully. It happens too fast for Kurt to even be startled, and then he tastes root beer float as he opens his mouth under Puck’s. Puck pulls back, still smirking, and pushes the jelly beans back towards Kurt. “Your turn.”

Kurt feels flushed and slightly confused, and has to physically resist the urge to put his hand up to his lips. Instead, he says, “I think that was a bodily fluid.”

“Well, no blood.” Puck shrugs. 

Kurt nods his head minutely, then reaches into the jelly bean jar, fishing for a specific flavor. When he finds a few that match, he pops them into his mouth and starts chewing them, glancing over at Puck shyly. When Puck doesn’t make any movement right away, Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

Puck grins a little. “I’m the only one that can move?”

Kurt stifles a laugh. “Yes. I’m pretty sure.”

“Lazy,” Puck retorts, but he leans forward again, and Kurt meets him partway, pressing their lips together briefly before tentatively touching his tongue to Puck’s lip. Puck’s lips open and then Puck’s tongue slides along Kurt’s. Kurt lets himself melt into the kiss for a few moments before pulling back and raising one eyebrow at Puck again. 

“Watermelon,” Puck says with a little smirk. “Trying to trick me by doing just one flavor?”

“I didn’t say you had to mix flavors,” Kurt responds, with an exaggerated shrug. “I just said you had to appreciate them.”

“Appreciate, huh?” Puck grins and grabs Kurt’s hand, slinging his rifle onto his back and picking up the jar of Jelly Bellys with his free hand. “C’mon.”

“Can we raid the other aisles in the morning?” Kurt whines. 

“Did I say we were raiding other aisles?” Puck asks as he stands, setting the jar into the cart and pushing it forward, still holding onto Kurt with his other hand. “Just figured we’d left the Nav alone for long enough.” When he glances over at Kurt, he’s smirking widely, eyes glinting with mischief.

“You just want to be closer to the guns.”

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” Puck fires back, letting the cart stop near the back of the Nav. He grabs the jar of Jelly Bellys and walks over to the mattress they dragged to the side of the Nav earlier, sitting down and pulling Kurt with him. He takes off his boots and socks, then sits crosslegged, facing Kurt, the jar between them. “Right?”

Kurt takes off his own boots and socks. “I think you have a firearms fetish.”

“Did I miss the memo where you’re secretly a shotgun?” Puck shrugs. “I wasn’t the only one spooning a rifle this morning.”

“It was an accident. And I’m pretty sure you left it there!” Kurt says, defensively. 

“Uh-huh.” Puck grins and starts digging through the jar again, choosing four beans and then eating them. “So what’s this?” he asks, then leans forward again, this time with one hand on Kurt’s face. Kurt leans into the kiss, nudging Puck’s mouth open with his lips and tongue. Puck tastes like coffee and chocolate, and Kurt grabs the front of Puck’s shirt, using it to haul himself into Puck’s lap. 

Puck’s other hand settles on Kurt’s waist, and this kiss is more heated than either of the previous two. Kurt slips one hand around the back of Puck’s neck, while the other slides up through his mohawk, fingers tangling in Puck’s hair. He pulls his mouth away from Puck’s long enough to mutter, “Chocolate _and_ coffee is cheating.”

“Sure we can’t take some of that chocolate with us?” Puck asks with a small smile. 

“I didn’t really want those potato chips anyway. Plenty of room in the console.”

“Sounds like a plan, then.” Puck doesn’t wait for Kurt to pick out more jelly beans, just starts kissing Kurt again, the hand at Kurt’s waist sliding around to rest on Kurt’s back. Kurt’s fingers tighten in Puck’s hair, pulling a little, and he kisses back harder, letting his teeth graze Puck’s lip. Puck wraps both arms around Kurt and leans back, pulling Kurt down on top of him, all without breaking the kiss. 

A moment later, Puck rolls them over, his leg pressed between Kurt’s. Kurt brings one of his legs up to wrap high around Puck’s hip, and at the same time, he involuntarily reaches out with one hand to check that his rifle is still within reach. When Puck’s hand leaves Kurt’s face, Kurt realizes Puck is doing the same thing, reaching out to check his gun. 

Kurt starts to laugh, tightening his leg around Puck. Puck snorts and grins. “Firearms fetish, huh?”

“Shut up,” Kurt says, pulling Puck back down against him. 

“Okay, Stud,” Puck says, grin widening. 

“Oh my god, you did not just call me that,” Kurt groans. “That’s capitalized. I could hear it. In your mind, you capitalized that.”

“I totally did,” Puck nods, not arguing. “Problem?”

“No. Only if you expect me to answer to it.”

“Oh, you will,” Puck says confidently, and Puck’s leg, still squeezed between Kurt’s, moves forward and down, pressing against Kurt’s cock. “By noon tomorrow, I bet.” Puck brings his lips down on Kurt’s again, rocking against him. Kurt tightens the leg around Puck’s hip even more, arching up against him, and Kurt can feel that Puck is as hard as he is. 

Puck pulls back and stares down at Kurt, silent for a moment. “Can I suck you off?” he finally says. 

Kurt thinks something in his brain might have short circuited. His faces flushes and he has to swallow a few times before he can muster a response, and when he does, his response is, "That’s another bodily fluid.”

“I’m pretty sure,” Puck says with a grin, putting his hand over the front of Kurt’s jeans, “Zombies aren’t coming. So we’re probably safe there.”

Kurt nods, then he pauses and nods again, more slowly. “Okay.”

Puck kisses Kurt again while he unfastens Kurt’s jeans, tugging jeans and underwear both down to Kurt’s knees. Then Puck’s mouth leaves Kurt’s, a few seconds passing before Puck’s tongue licks up the underside of Kurt’s cock. Kurt gasps, his hips coming up off the mattress slightly, and ones of his hands slides back into Puck’s hair before he realizes what he’s doing. Puck does the same thing again, this time running his tongue over the tip before taking it into his mouth. He slides his lips farther down Kurt, bringing one hand to circle the base, and his other hand moves under Kurt’s shirt, fingers brushing over and then pinching lightly at Kurt’s nipples. 

Kurt moans and his hips buck involuntarily, and he might even feel apologetic about that if Puck hadn’t started it. Instead, he just whispers, “Oh my god, that feels _so_ good, Puck.”

Puck doesn’t give any outward sign of hearing him, but a few seconds later, Puck somehow moves his mouth even lower, and the fingers pinching at Kurt’s nipples pinch a little more strongly. Puck’s other hand moves to Kurt’s balls, holding them loosely. Kurt keeps rocking his hips up off the mattress, his fingers tightening in Puck’s mohawk. He can hear himself moaning and whining, and he wraps his leg around Puck’s back as he undulates underneath Puck.

Kurt whimpers, “Please,” even though he’s uncertain what he’s asking for. This time, Puck’s response is immediate, fingers tightening on Kurt’s nipple, hand squeezing Kurt’s balls gently, and even more of Kurt’s cock disappearing inside Puck’s mouth. Kurt makes some high-pitched sound he can’t quite identify, and he gasps out, “Puck, I’m going to come!”

Puck nods slightly and keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, not altering his rhythm. Kurt pulls at Puck’s hair and cries out as he starts to come, his hips rising up off the mattress. Puck’s mouth and hands don’t stop moving until Kurt falls back against the mattress, his grip on Puck’s hair loosening. 

Puck slowly replaces Kurt’s underwear and jeans, then lies on his side next to Kurt, bringing their lips together. Kurt rests his hand on Puck’s hip, then runs it down his thigh and back up, feeling the kiss gradually shift from slow and soft to harder and more frantic. Kurt’s hand slides around to the inside of Puck’s thigh and he slowly moves it up until he’s cupping Puck through the front of his jeans. Puck shifts his weight, pressing against Kurt’s hand, and runs one hand under Kurt’s shirt and up his back. 

Kurt’s thumb brushes against the button of Puck’s jeans, and Kurt pulls his mouth back from Pucks so he can ask, “Can I?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Puck responds, almost growling. Kurt unfastens the button and slowly works the zipper down, before tentatively slipping his hand into Puck’s jeans, palming his cock through his underwear. Puck rocks forward, his other hand in Kurt’s hair, and pulls Kurt into another kiss. Kurt moves his hand on Puck, stroking downward and back up, his tongue pushing into Puck’s mouth. Puck’s fingers pull at Kurt’s hair and his mouth opens wider, his hips moving a little more quickly. 

Kurt withdraws his hand and then slides it inside Puck’s underwear to wrap his fingers around Puck’s cock. Puck lets out an encouraging low-pitched whine, pushing his tongue deeper into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt moves his hand faster, stroking up and down Puck’s cock, bringing his other hand to Puck’s face and running his thumb across Puck’s cheek gently. Puck turns his head into the touch, still rocking into the hand Kurt has on Puck’s cock. Kurt’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but Puck likes it, and Kurt likes doing it, so he speeds up the movement of his hand. 

Puck thrusts against Kurt hard twice, then comes with another low whine, lips still pressed against Kurt’s. Puck’s arm tightens around Kurt, and then he slumps half on top of Kurt. Kurt pulls his hand out of Puck’s pants and wipes it on the side of the mattress. He rests his head on top of Puck’s, one arm around him, and that’s how they fall asleep.

They wake up before dawn, and spend the next two hours loading the supplies into the Nav and making another pass through the Costco to make sure they’ve gotten everything they need and can carry with them. Puck retrieves the cheesecake from the freezer, and they finish it off quickly while Puck maps out their return trip to Lima. 

“Are we ready?” Kurt asks. “We should try to fill up if we can access the gas tank outside. Nav’s running low.”

“Yeah, good plan,” Puck agrees. “We have the tool-thing to open the gas tanks; we’ll take it with us, too.” As Kurt climbs into the Nav, Puck walks over the door, rifle slung across his back and extra padlocks in hand. He goes to the smaller door and peeks out briefly before giving Kurt a thumbs-up and starting to roll up the main door. When it’s high enough, Kurt drives the Nav out, and Puck rolls the door back down, securing it with their own padlocks before climbing into the passenger seat. “Let’s gas this up, Stud.”

“Still not answering to that,” Kurt says. 

Puck grins. “It’s not noon yet. Besides,” he adds as they stop next to the openings for the gas tanks, “it’s ‘cause you’re hung.” With that, he opens the door to the Nav and starts trying to open the nearest tank. 

Kurt rolls his eyes and picks up his rifle, watching the parking lot while Puck successfully removes the lid from the tank. Before Puck can start siphoning, though, a group of at least a dozen zombies starts to cross the parking lot.

“Puck?” Kurt says. “Puck, get in the Nav. We need to go.”

Puck looks up and sighs. “Shit.” He drops the lid back onto the tank and grabs the opening tool, then hurries back into the Nav. “Fucking Zombies.”

“We’ll stop at the next gas station that looks clear,” Kurt promises. “Which way out of the parking lot?” he asks, as he swings right to give the zombies a wide berth. 

“Left, we’re heading west on US 20,” Puck directs. 

Kurt turns left, driving faster than is precisely safe while swerving to dodge cars and a few zombies that have wandered into the street. “Where did they all come from? After we lost that group by the house, we barely saw any over here yesterday. That’s not the same group. No suits.”

“Sale at SteinMart?” Puck jokes. “Haven’t you ever seen the footage of Black Friday?” He pauses. “Or do you help make that footage?”

Kurt huffs. “ _Please_. Black Friday is so plebeian. I do all my shopping on Cyber Monday. I don’t like to be touched by strangers, especially not sweaty, frantic, overweight strangers with poor taste in shoes.”

“Fair enough.” Puck jerks his thumb backwards. “Or hungry Zombies with poor taste in shoes, either.”

The Nav’s gas gauge needle hovers around a quarter tank, and that last quarter goes fast. After about a mile, Kurt sees a Shell station on the right, but even before they can turn into it, he notices the zombies clustered on the far side of the building. “Guess we’ll keep going a little longer,” Kurt sighs.

They drive past a long stretch of metropark before spotting a Speedway sign. This time, they actually make it out of the Nav before the zombies find them. “Fuck!” Puck yells, shaking the tank-opening tool in the zombies’ general direction. 

“Stop swearing at the zombies and get back in the Nav!” Kurt shouts at him. 

Puck pouts as he puts his seatbelt back on. “It makes me feel better.”

“You won’t feel better when I leave your zombiefied ass on the side of the road,” Kurt grumbles. “Next time, get in first, then shake your tool out the window.”

Puck turns towards Kurt, grin slowly spreading across his face. “Out the window, huh?”

“Whatever gets you there, sport,” Kurt says. 

“I’m never gonna win this, am I?” Puck says with a huff. “At least not verbally.”

“Not even a little bit,” Kurt agrees.

The next stretch of road is nothing but car dealerships, then they cross over I-475, and pass several restaurants before pulling into a GetGo. The parking lot seems empty, and Kurt circles the station twice before pulling up to the tank opening. 

“I swear to fucking god, if I see another zombie before this tank is full, I am going to scream,” Kurt announces. 

“One gallon,” Puck says after a minute. “Maybe, anyway. It’s slow.” He sighs. “But it’s something.” Another few minutes pass and Puck yanks the length of hose out of the Nav and slams the fuel door shut before running around to the passenger side. “Fuck, let’s go.”

“Dammit!” Kurt screams, banging his fist on the steering wheel as he floors it out of the parking lot. “I am getting really tired of these fucking zombies cockblocking my gas tank!”

Puck starts to chuckle. “Does seem like they’ve got a plan; not what I’d expect though.”

The stores become more sparse, and they drive and drive past miles of nothing, then a golf course, and then more nothing. The gas gauge needle dips lower again—two or three gallons doesn’t last long—but they can’t even just pull over and use the gas cans tied to the roof, because every time Kurt starts to slow down, it seems like a zombie comes stumbling out from the trees or from behind a stalled car. They do manage to pull over long enough to pour the contents of one gas cans into the Nav’s tank before being interrupted, and that gets them Ohio 109, where they turn and head southward.

“We really need to fill up,” Kurt says, trying to keep the note of panic out of his voice. “We can’t keep up this two gallons here, five gallons there thing.”

“Farther we get from Toledo, the fewer zombies we’re going to see at a time,” Puck responds. “I mean, I hate to spend ammo when we can just drive, but if we can get somewhere with just three or four, we can take them out and keep fueling.”

Kurt pats the dashboard. “Please don’t die on me, baby,” he croons to the Nav. “Please get us to a nice, zombie-free gas station.”

“I feel like we need a ticker-tape parade for it,” Puck says with a grin. “If only we had armor plating for it, too.”

“I’ll put that on the shopping list.” They drive for a few more miles, before Kurt calls out, “Bingo! Truck stop!”

“Great,” Puck says, pumping the shotgun. “Trucker Zombies.”

The sign outside the cluster of buildings comprising the truck stop announces ‘Winchesters Restaurant and Saloon’, and the big gravel lot behind the building is occupied by three 18-wheelers, along with an assortment of trucks and cars parked in the blacktop lot in front. The entire area is conspicuously free of zombies.

“This stop is going to go either very well or very badly,” Kurt says. 

“I’m voting for ‘very well’,” Puck states. “But I’m still taking the shotgun _and_ the rifle.”

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll grab a beer after.” Kurt pulls the Nav up to the pumps, and notices the display screen is lit up. “They’ve got power here!” 

“A _cold_ beer!” Puck declares. “Must be other Assholes with a generator or something.” They both climb out of the Nav and Kurt swipes one of the cards, but the gas doesn’t immediately start. After about twenty seconds, there’s a loud click, and Puck puts the nozzle back into the empty gas can and squeezes experimentally. There’s a sputter and then gas starts to fill the can. “Fuck, yes.” Puck grins. “Definitely other Assholes.”

“Put the nozzle in the _Nav_ , Puck,” Kurt says. “The gas can can wait.”

“Chill, Stud,” Puck laughs. “There’s plenty.” He fills the can and then, finally, sticks the nozzle directly into the Nav.”

“These assholes are alive, too!” they hear a female voice shout across the parking lot. Kurt turns towards the building, where a bottle red-haired woman stands in the door to the convenience store portion of the building. “You boys want a cold beer when you’re done out here.”

“That’d be awesome,” Puck calls back. “How many Assholes are here?”

“Seven, myself included. How many Assholes out there?” she shouts to him.

“Just the two of us!” Puck returns as the nozzle clicks off. He replaces the nozzle and closes the door to the gas tank. “Pull up to the door?” he says to Kurt. 

“Maybe we should just go,” Kurt says, eyeing the building suspiciously. “Who knows how many people are really in there, and whether or not they need our supplies?”

“Air conditioning,” Puck argues. “And you know. Maybe coffee.”

“Dammit,” Kurt says, pulling up to the building and parking. “One of these days, you’re not getting your way.”

“Today’s not that day,” Puck says with a shrug, but he does take both weapons with him when they walk towards the door. Kurt does the same, shouldering his rifle and sticking the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. 

When they walk in the door, there’s a chorus of “Howdy!” from a clump of five men, and a chirped “hi!” from a young girl in glasses. 

“Where you boys headed?” One of the men asks. “I’m Fred Winchester. I own this place, such as it is these days.”

“Puck,” Puck introduces himself, then gestures at Kurt. “This is Kurt, or Stud.”

Kurt shifts the rifle slightly. “Don’t touch my shit,” he says, primly. 

“I don’t think they’re like the guy you shot at the McDonald’s,” Puck says, smirking a little. The group of men look surprised and a little concerned.

“Oh, we’re not looking for any trouble,” one of the other men insists. “Toledo real bad?”

“We were on the western side of it,” Puck answers. “Pretty bad. Not a place I’d want to stick around, anyway. Headed back south for now.”

“Well, how about those beers, boys?” the woman, who appears to be a waitress at Winchesters, offers. 

“Much obliged,” Puck says, sitting on a stool at the bar, which is wood-paneled, like everything in the room. Kurt shoots him a ‘what the fuck’ look, and Puck shrugs. “I told you, my Nana likes those Westerns,” he says under his breath. 

Kurt shakes his head. “You are so bizarre.”

“Tell me about it... Stud.”

Kurt groans and puts his face in his hand. “There is something seriously wrong with you. Drink your beer.”

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #12: Always carry extra gas.**

Puck's surprised the power grid lasted as long as it did, if he's honest. He'd hoped it would last longer, but he's still surprised. Both times they were able to pump gas into the Nav, he celebrated, but he also thought each time was the last time, and of course, the second time was. There's no more power, which means the comforts of modern life are now dependent on how much gasoline they can carry, and how many things the Nav can do. Well, dependent on gasoline, a few batteries, and solar iPhone chargers, but mostly gasoline, because without it, they aren't going to get anywhere. The odds of running out of gas in a defensible location seem pretty small. The odds of running out in a place they'd actually want to stay? Seem infinitesimal. So he'll load up the gas cans again and again and try to find a few more, too, and every chance they have to put gas into the Nav, they will.

  



	9. Chapter 9

After a hot meal, a second beer for Puck, and several cups of coffee for Kurt, they offer Fred half their crate of apples as a thank you for the gas, food, and nobody having to shoot anybody else. They’re back on the road by close to two in the afternoon, and the next leg of the trip is surprisingly uneventful. Kurt has to off-road it a few times to get past blockages in the road, and they don’t exactly make excellent time, but at least there’s no shooting or screaming or dying, any of which could be possibilities, given the circumstances.

The next time they pass through a town, over an hour later, they look for a gas station, but the only one they find leaves them too exposed to feel like it’s a safe enough stop. After they cross over a river, they drive east again for a few miles before turning back toward the south for two more hours before they find a place to stop. 

“Let’s stop at one of these three houses,” Puck says. “Eat dinner, get ready for sunset. We’re gonna hit Hamler soon, so if we go through early, we should be able to refuel without too many problems. Hopefully get back into Lima before sunset tomorrow.”

“Park where we’re sleeping, or park at one, sleep in another one?” Kurt asks, slowing the Nav. “Benefits to either.”

“If we unload enough for a couple of days, we can make it a little less risky to park at a different one,” Puck comments. “We can clear both of them, make sure nothing’s around. Or Assholes.”

“I like the little one at the end. It seems homey,” Kurt says, pulling into the third driveway. “Clear, then unload?”

“Yep,” Puck agrees, shoulder the shotgun and the rifle as he goes to pick the lock. “No car here, either. Whatever that means.” The lock clicks and Puck opens the door slowly, poking the rifle in ahead of him. The house is only one floor and relatively small, which makes it easy to thoroughly check for zombies, Eatens, or Assholes. None of those are present, though, and they discover a concrete patio pad in the back, as well as a garden. “Let’s unload through here,” Puck suggests. “And then grab some fresh produce.”

Kurt pulls the Nav around to the back, and they unload all the fresh food, a flat of water, a change of clothes, and all of the weapons and ammunition, including Puck’s exceptionally large knife. They clear the second house, move the Nav, and then raid the garden for a few late-season tomatoes and zucchini. 

“Looks like tomato and zucchini salad for dinner,” Kurt says. “Or you can just have tomato and zucchini, saladization optional.”

“Not gonna eat your watermelon, Stud?”

“Still not answering to that.”

“You just did. Knew I was talking to you, didn’t you?”

“Well, there were so many other people you could have been addressing,” Kurt answers, rolling his eyes. “And no, not eating the watermelon yet. It’s a breakfast watermelon.”

“Uh-huh.” Puck locks the door behind them and shoves a microwave cart in front of the door. “Right. Well, I guess I can think of better uses for your mouth after dinner, anyway.”

Kurt has no response to that, so he just turns towards the tomatoes he’s cutting and focuses on them intently. Puck chuckles and opens a can of something, then walks up right behind Kurt. 

“How about some tuna with that saladization?” Puck says, setting a can on the counter next to the tomatoes. “Maybe a nice warm pop to drink.”

“Sounds like a gourmet dinner at this point,” Kurt answers. “I might reconsider the watermelon situation, depending on your behavior during the meal.”

Puck laughs again, running his hand lightly down Kurt’s left arm. “I’ll keep that in mind, Stud.”

“Still not answering to that... Butterfly,” Kurt retorts.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” Puck leans forward and kisses Kurt’s neck before stepping back and walking over to the table. “I feel like we need a dinner bell,” he says as he pulls out a chair. 

“One of those triangles, like in your Nana’s westerns?” Kurt suggests. 

Puck grins. “Exactly.”

After dinner, Kurt takes a quick shower—cold, because that’s the only option—and rinses out his socks, underwear, and tank top as much as possible, hanging them over the towel rack to dry. Moderately clean, and in a fresh tank top and pair of underwear, he actually feels pretty good. He feels even better when he comes out of the bathroom and Puck’s on the bed in nothing but underwear, looking somewhat washed, at least.

“Waiting for someone?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You tell me. How was my behavior during dinner?” Puck asks, smirking. 

“It was good. It wasn’t _watermelon_ good.”

“So I guess I’ll have to let you know about those other uses, now?” 

Kurt’s face flushes, but it’s probably not noticeable in the low light still filtering in through the bedroom curtains. “I suppose you will,” he says, doing his best to sound nonchalant. “If that doesn’t throw off your schedule or anything.”

“Oh, I think I can clear an hour or two.” Puck rolls onto his side, facing Kurt, propping his face up on his hand. “You?”

“I can probably give up at least an hour, hour and a half,” Kurt says, crawling onto the bed next to Puck. 

“Excellent.” Puck reaches out and slides his hand under Kurt’s tank top, brushing his fingers across Kurt’s stomach. “Aren’t you a little warm in this?”

Kurt nods, and Puck sits up, pulling Kurt’s shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor. Puck’s hands rest on Kurt’s waist, and Kurt leans forward, gently brushing his lips against Puck’s. “Thanks,” he says, his lips still touching Puck’s. 

“Glad to be of service,” Puck responds quietly, then presses their lips more firmly together. He uses his hands on Kurt’s waist to help him push Kurt onto his back, and then Puck drapes himself on top of Kurt, still kissing him. Kurt runs his hand over the side of Puck’s head, where the hair is already growing back in a soft fuzz, then twines his fingers in Puck’s mohawk. 

Puck pulls away slightly, then kisses down Kurt’s jaw and collarbone before taking one of Kurt’s nipples between his lips, first kissing and licking it, then nipping at it very gently. Kurt wriggles and gasps, and tightens his fingers in Puck’s hair. Puck responds by biting down with a little more force and bringing a hand up to rub his thumb over the other nipple. 

Kurt arches his back and hisses, “Yesss,” his other hand sliding across Puck’s shoulder and coming to rest between his shoulder blades. 

Puck moves his mouth, kissing Kurt again briefly before putting his lips against Kurt’s ear. “I really want to fuck you,” he whispers. “Really, really.”

Kurt’s breath catches and his fingers curl against Puck’s back, nails digging in slightly. He inhales sharply, then says, “I think—I think I want you to. Really, really.”

“Good,” Puck says, his accompanying laugh a little breathy, and then he’s kissing Kurt again, his hand sliding under Kurt’s underwear and pushing it down. He pulls away long enough to remove Kurt’s underwear as well as his own, and he rolls towards the flowered-tablecloth-covered bedside table for a moment, then rolls back on top of Kurt, clutching a bottle of lotion. “Hey, it says it has soothing moisture and everything.”

Kurt starts giggling, and when he looks at Puck’s face he giggles even harder, and can’t stop, so he just holds on to Puck and keeps laughing. 

Puck grins. “Chamomile’s not that funny, you know,” he says after a moment, putting his mouth on the opposite nipple from before. A moment later, his fingers trail over Kurt’s cock and then his balls, before one clearly lotion-coated finger teases at Kurt’s entrance. 

“Did I hurt your delicate Butterfly feelings?” Kurt asks, though he’s not giggling anymore. His fingers dig into Puck’s back a little harder. 

“Definitely,” Puck says, raising his head a little to speak before biting at Kurt’s nipple. At the same time, his finger slips barely inside Kurt. Kurt gasps—he seems to be doing a lot of that lately—and tenses. Puck runs his other hand lightly up and down Kurt’s cock, licking at Kurt’s nipple, and then pushes his finger a bit further inside. 

Kurt exhales loudly, then asks, in a soft voice, “You’ve done this... a lot?”

“Uh.” Puck looks up, vaguely sheepish. “If by ‘a lot’ you mean ‘read about it on the Internet’.”

Kurt relaxes a little and smiles at Puck. “Pamphlets. I got _pamphlets_.”

“Not from Ms. Pillsbury, I hope,” Puck says with a grin. 

“Worse.” Kurt rolls his eyes at the both of them. “Too much talking.” He leans up enough to press his mouth against Puck’s. Puck pushes his tongue into Kurt’s mouth, hand still on Kurt’s cock, and then his finger is as far inside Kurt as it can go. 

“Fuck,” Puck says, his lips just barely brushing against Kurt’s. “Holy shit, Stud, that feels good.”

Kurt’s voice sounds high and breathy when he answers, “Feels good on this end, too.” He rocks his hips forward experimentally and lets out a soft moan. “Good,” he repeats.

“So fucking good,” Puck agrees, slowly pulling his finger almost completely out before pushing it back in more quickly. “Your ass, damn, so sweet.”

Kurt giggles and relaxes a little more. “Thank you?”

“Oh, it was a compliment,” Puck says, smirking down at him, and after a few more movements, Puck pushes in much more slowly, a second finger beside the first. Puck returns his mouth to Kurt’s chest, alternating between both sides, until both fingers are fully inside Kurt. “Okay?”

Kurt’s breathing heavily, almost panting, and he keeps rocking his hips up against Puck’s fingers. “Yes. Intense,” is all he can manage.

“Really fucking hot,” Puck murmurs, “you’re so tight.” His hand on Kurt’s cock tightens a bit, thumb brushing over the tip, and he bends down to kiss Kurt as he starts moving his fingers out and back inside Kurt, moving the pair slightly apart when they’re as far in as Puck can push them. Kurt’s almost shaking underneath Puck, his nails raking down the smooth skin of Puck’s back, hips moving almost involuntarily. He kisses Puck back hard, nipping at his lower lip, licking at it. 

When the speed of Puck’s fingers is the same as it was for one finger, Puck moves his hand up and down Kurt’s cock more quickly, and adds a third finger, going slowly. He continues kissing Kurt, running his tongue alongside Kurt’s, and from the movement of Puck’s hips, it’s clear that he’s holding himself back. 

“Puck,” Kurt breaths against Puck’s lips. “Puck. I want you inside me. Puck, _please_.”

“Fuck, yes,” Puck agrees, and his hand releases Kurt’s cock. A moment later, he’s putting lotion in Kurt’s hand and then guiding Kurt’s hand to his cock. “Want to be inside you, too.”

Kurt’s hand wraps around Puck’s cock, sliding down its length and back up to the tip. He leans up to kiss Puck again, both of them breathing heavily. Puck’s fingers slowly withdraw, and Puck moves Kurt’s legs up, his thumb stroking lightly down the skin behind Kurt’s balls. His hand moves to Kurt’s cock, moving up and down, grip firm, and he moves forward slightly. 

“Go slow?” Kurt asks softly, his eyes finding Puck’s as he tries to ask, without saying aloud, ‘and please don’t hurt me too much’.

Puck nods and then grins, leaning as far down as he can. “I’ll have you begging me to go faster,” he promises, then pushes forward slowly, his hand still moving on Kurt’s cock at the same time. Kurt feels himself stretching around Puck, but it’s more intense than painful, and he returns his hand to Puck’s back, fingertips skating over Puck’s skin, pulling Puck towards him. Puck’s other hand slides up Kurt’s chest, then over both of Kurt’s nipples, tugging slightly, and he moves forward again. 

Puck is going slow, too slow, and Kurt has a feeling that might be intentional on Puck’s part. Kurt rocks his hips up towards Puck, pulling Puck down on top of him with the hand on Puck’s back. “Puck. _More_.”

The slight smirk on Puck’s face is slight confirmation, and he moves a little faster, steadily, until he’s fully inside Kurt, and then he stops, almost panting. “Fuck. _Fuck_ , this feels awesome. Holy fuck.” The hand on Kurt’s cock tightens but slows somewhat. “Damn.”

Kurt lifts his hips again and clings to Puck’s back with his fingers digging into the muscles there. “Don’t stop,” he breathes. “Don’t stop, Puck.”

Puck lets out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-panting, and then starts moving again, the hand on Kurt’s chest falling to the bed as he moves back and then deep inside Kurt again. Puck’s hand speeds up on Kurt’s cock, and Puck gradually increases the speed of his thrusts until his hand and his hips are moving together. “Not going to last long,” he admits, biting down on his lip. 

“Yes,” Kurt says, in acknowledgment, but also in agreement. He’s not going to last long either, not with Puck’s hand moving on his cock like that, or the way Puck is pushing inside him at just the right angle every third or fourth thrust. “Faster.”

“Pushy!” Puck says with a grin, but he complies, moving faster and lifting Kurt’s legs just a bit higher. His hand squeezes more tightly, and Puck’s eyes close momentarily. The slight change in angle makes everything go from good to so intensely incredible that Kurt cries out, a high sound that repeats with every thrust. 

His nails dig into Puck’s shoulder, and he can feel his orgasm building. Puck’s thrusts lose their synchronicity with his hand, his hips snapping forward faster and harder while his hand still pumps up and down. Kurt starts to come, hard and sudden, and he shouts Puck’s name, his fingers raking down Puck’s back. 

Puck thrusts in twice more before his body shudders and Kurt can feel the hot pulse of Puck coming inside him. Puck eases Kurt’s legs down before collapsing mostly on top of Kurt, his face buried against the side of Kurt’s neck. Kurt wraps both his arms around Puck and holds him tightly, his face against Puck’s head. 

“That was so good,” Kurt whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Puck’s head. “Thank you.”

Puck raises his head slightly and smiles. “Back at you.”

Kurt feels good and safe, and he just wants to pretend that everything outside is just as nice as it is for him on this bed with Puck. His arms tighten around Puck, and he slips into a light sleep. Kurt wakes up to Puck’s touch on his shoulder, and Puck whispering Kurt’s name in his ear. It’s fully dark outside and Puck is wearing his underwear.

“What time is it?” Kurt asks. 

“Close to eleven,” Puck answers. “I took the first couple of hours. I think more than two hours is too long to make ourselves stay awake, you know?”

Kurt nods. “Thank you for letting me sleep. You get some rest, and I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.” He stands up and searches the floor for his underwear and tank top, pulling them on, then picking his rifle up from the top of the dresser. Before he leaves the bedroom, he walks over to the bed and leans over, pressing his lips against Puck’s. 

Puck returns the kiss and then grins. “No problem, Stud.”

Kurt laughs softly. “Sleep, Butterfly.” He pulls the bedroom door mostly closed behind him, walking into the kitchen for a snack, and then sitting down in the dark living room, watching the street. At one point, a tractor-trailer rumbles up the road, heading north, and Kurt smiles to himself a little, hoping the trucker makes it safely to Winchesters. His smiles fades quickly, though, when a lone zombie comes shambling across the road from the opposite direction. Kurt holds his breath, his hands gripping the rifle tightly, but the zombie turns away from the house, shuffling slowly down the center line of the road. 

He checks in on Puck after two hours has passed, but he’s sleeping so deeply that Kurt ends up taking another hour of watch before waking Puck up with apologetic kisses. “Time to get up,” Kurt whispers. 

“‘Kay,” Puck nods, stretching with his eyes still closed. “Anyone or anything go past?”

“Truck going north, zombie heading south,” Kurt says. “Just one of each. I let you get a little extra sleep. I hope that’s okay.”

“You good?” Puck asks, sitting up and shaking his head a little, like he’s trying to clear it. “If nothing goes by, we can probably both sleep the last hour or so before dawn.”

Kurt smiles as he climbs up onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow. “I’d like that. I’d like it better if you could stay in here now, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Puck grins. “Yeah. Tell you what, I’ll cut up your watermelon for you.”

“Sweet-talker,” Kurt murmurs, already starting to drift off again. He doesn’t stir again until he feels Puck crawling into bed behind him, curling up around Kurt with one arm draped across Kurt’s chest. 

When Kurt wakes up again, it’s still dark, but the darkness has a pre-dawn quality to it. Puck is still curled up behind him, and Kurt pushes back against him, moving his hips in slow circles until he feels Puck’s cock hardening. Kurt reaches back and holds on to Puck’s thigh, using it for leverage as he rocks his body against Puck’s. 

“Well, good morning,” Puck murmurs, the arm across Kurt tightening. “I’d ask how you slept, but.”

“So, here’s what’s going to happen now,” Kurt says softly. “Are you listening?”

“Yep,” Puck says. “All ears.”

“We’re going to pretend for a little while. We’re going to pretend we’re... somewhere. My new apartment, or maybe yours. Doesn’t really matter which, just some place that belongs to one of us. And we’re going to pretend that in a little while, we can get out of bed and put on a pot of coffee, and cook breakfast, and that after that, we can curl up together on the sofa and watch tv,” Kurt says, still moving his hips in small circles as he presses back against Puck. “Can you pretend like that for a little while?”

“Sounds perfect,” Puck responds. “Maybe lunch at a little cafe afterwards.”

“Mmm, yes. And we can walk there. Outside, walk right down the street in the sunshine,” Kurt says. He hooks his thumb in the waistband of Puck’s underwear, slowly pulling them down. Puck slides his hand in the front of Kurt’s underwear, his palm flat against Kurt’s cock. 

“And the breeze. Don’t forget the nice breeze.”

“Never. The breeze is the best part.”

  


**Puck’s Rule of Zombie Survival, #13: Sometimes it’s necessary to pretend for a little while.**

The first day or two, Puck recognizes that he was mostly on adrenaline and a little bit of shock. It’s easy to be an Asshole and only an Asshole, but the more they adapt and make the best of the shit hand the Zombies have dealt them, the more Puck realizes that they need their fantasies and memories of Before. Being on edge twenty-four hours a day, being an Asshole all the time, it dulls the senses a little and wears them out, and Puck knows that if they don’t take time, they’re going to start making stupid mistakes. No, there doesn’t need to be any pretending when there’s a swarm of former church-goers running after them, but during the moments when they are temporarily safe, they need to let themselves pretend. 

It makes it a little easier to shoulder the rifle and eat cold food.

  


They eat half of Kurt’s watermelon for breakfast, spitting the seeds into a cup as they go, then Puck covers the other half of the melon with plastic wrap from the kitchen. They pull the Nav back over to the back of the house, load it quickly, and are rolling through the barely-there town of Hamler before the sun crests the horizon. The road is clear and the only movement Kurt sees along either side is the occasional flock of birds and another northbound semi, which blows its horn as it passes.

The road clogs again right on the outskirts of Ottawa, the familiar mix of stalled and wrecked cars, some with smears of dried blood inside them, and Puck shoots several zombies wandering in or near the street. Kurt spots a sign that makes him grin wide, and he sings out, “Oh Butterfly!”

“Yeah, Stud?” Puck responds, still looking out his window. 

“Do we need any firearms or accessories?” Kurt asks, pointing out his window at the prefabricated building with the sign reading ‘Ottawa Ordnance Firearms & Accessories’.

“Ohh, nice,” Puck breathes. “Doesn’t look like it’s even been touched,” he adds, pointing at the still-intact door. 

Kurt pulls into the parking lot, pulling behind the building to park, and they each shoulder a rifle, Puck also grabbing the shotgun and Kurt sticking the handgun back in his belt. When they get inside without incident, Puck grabs an empty cardboard box and starts loading it with ammunition.

“Find something that feels good in your hand,” Puck instructs. “And get a holster for that,” he adds, gesturing at the handgun in Kurt’s belt. Kurt nods and rifles through a rack of holsters until he finds one that fits and feels comfortable, before wandering over to the guns. He picks up a few different ones before settling on the smaller Glock 27. On a whim, he also picks up a bubblegum pink handgun engraved with the name ‘Missy’. Puck looks over and snorts. “Really?”

“It’s not for _me_ ,” Kurt explains. “It’s for just in case. Plus, easy to find if you drop it.” He holds up the Glock. “This one’s for me.”

“Nice,” Puck nods. He gets a holster and handgun for himself, then looks around the store. “I guess we’ll just grab what we can carry from the rest of it.”

Kurt looks at a display of shoulder holsters. “I’m getting one of these. They look comfortable and stylish!”

Puck laughs. “Sounds good.” He picks up the box, now full of ammunition, and walks towards the rear door. “Ready to set off their fire alarm?”

“Does that work without power?” Kurt asks, fastening the crossing straps of the shoulder harness and sticking the Glock into the holster. “Do I look ready to kill some zombies?” He does a half turn. 

Puck grins. “Lookin’ good, Stud.” He leans on the door and a split second after it opens, the alarm starts to blare. “Guess it’s battery-operated!”

Kurt grabs a stack of bandanas off the counter as he crosses to the door. “We should leave, then. Faster is better than slower.” He unlocks the Nav, and they’re both inside with all their new supplies and pulling out of the parking lot. “Here,” he says to Puck, offering him the stack of bandanas. “Pick one, so your head doesn’t burn.”

Puck rummages through the stack almost absently, then laughs. “I’m going to go with skulls and roses,” he announces, tying a black-and-purple bandana on. 

“Classy,” Kurt snickers. “Give me one that’s just black. No reason not to coordinate with the rest of my ensemble.”

“No decorative flames even?” Puck teases. 

“I’m wearing two handguns and carrying a rifle,” Kurt answers. “I’m going for understated.”

“Good point.” Puck shrugs and tosses Kurt a plain black bandana. “Gas station ahead on the right.”

Kurt pulls into the station and parks in front of the tank opening. “Get it pried open and I’ll start the siphon while you check for more gas cans.”

“Got it.” Puck jumps out and opens the tank more quickly than the first couple of times he tried it, then heads towards the building, rifle in hand. 

“Bring me back something nice!” Kurt calls after him, uncoiling the hose and sticking one end into the tank, sucking on the other end until the gas is flowing, then shoving the hose into the gas tank. 

Puck gives Kurt a thumbs up over his shoulder, then knocks a few pieces of stray glass from a broken window before stepping through. Kurt turns back towards the street, and a minute or two later, a group of three zombies sprinting awkwardly up the road. Kurt has enough time to swing his rifle down from his shoulder and aim carefully at the closest zombie, firing and catching it directly in the face. It drops, and Kurt swivels slightly to fire at the second one. This shot goes a little high, but still blows off the top of the zombie’s head, but he’s scrambling to aim as the third zombie gets too close for comfort, and the shot goes low and to the right, blowing a hole through the zombie’s shoulder. 

“Shit!” Kurt yells, taking a few stumbling backwards steps, firing off another shot that goes low and slightly to the right again, catching the zombie just off center mass in the chest. It falls to the ground, but starts pulling itself onto its feet. In the distance, Kurt can see a few more zombies starting to wander slowly into the street, as if attracted by the noise. “Shit!” Kurt repeats. “Puck! Now would be good!” 

The remaining zombie is up on one hand and its knees when Kurt fires again. The close range means he does get it right in the face, and it drops again without even a twitch. “Puck! Come on!”

Puck ducks back through the window and jogs over, three more gas cans dangling off yet more rope. “I am _not_ letting those fuckers run us away from our gas,” Puck mutters, raising his rifle in the direction of the new zombies. “Nav almost full?”

“Yes. Start filling the cans, we need to go!”

“On it,” Puck says, redirecting the hose towards the first of the gas cans. He stands back up and shoots the closest zombie before poking the can with his foot. “C’mon, c’mon, siphon faster,” he says to the hose. He switches the hose to the second can and screws the cap on the first, already using the rope to let it dangle from the rack on the top of the Nav. “How many?”

“Five. No, six,” Kurt says, looking down the street. “Fuck! No, a _lot_. We need to go. Now!” Kurt fires off several shots, one after the other, not taking the time to aim as carefully as he should. One zombie drops, two more stagger and fall after Kurt puts a second shot into each of them.

Puck swears and fires off five shots, one after another, and three more zombies drop. “Second can’s full,” he announces, and there’s a sloshing sound as he moves the hose one more time. Puck screws on the cap and ties it on. “We’re leaving the hose.”

“Puck!” Kurt yells. “Rather not die for five gallons of gas, please!”

“Okay, okay!” Puck concedes, bending over and grabbing the third can, which is about half-full. He screws the lid on and starts tying it to the roof at last. “Shit!” he yells suddenly. “Behind us!”

Kurt spins to see two zombies within a yard of where Puck is tying the cans to the Nav’s roof. Kurt fires his rifle at one, blowing off part of its head, but while he’s doing that, the second one grabs Puck by the leg. Puck yells again, one hand holding onto the roof rack while he kicks at the zombie with both legs. 

“Get _off_ me, fucker!” Puck shouts, trying to bring his rifle to the front, and then he jumps off the Nav, barely managing to stay upright. Unfortunately, the zombie _also_ stays upright, and it reaches for Puck with half-chewed arms. 

Puck is between Kurt and the zombie, and the only part Kurt can get a clear shot at is the head. Down and to the right this time means shooting Puck, but not firing means a zombie _eating_ Puck, which is just not acceptable. Kurt takes a deep breath, fires over Puck’s shoulder, and the zombie’s head explodes like a pumpkin being thrown on the ground. 

“Don’t touch my shit!” Kurt screams at the zombie, giving it a kick. “Get in the fucking Nav _now_ , Puck!”

“Getting!” Puck pants, running around the back of the Nav and jumping in the passenger seat before slamming the door. “Shit!”

Kurt throws the Nav into drive and hits the gas before he locks the doors or fastens his seat belt. “Did it bite you? Did you get bitten?”

Puck slumps against the back of his seat and shakes his head. “Tried to steal my jeans. Stupid,” he mutters, and it’s not clear if he means the zombies, himself, or both.

“Did it scratch you or anything? _Shit_ , Puck!” Kurt yells at him. His hands are shaking on the steering wheel, and he can’t tell if he’s terrified, furious, some mix of the two, or something else entirely. “I thought it had you!” Tears start streaming down his face while he yells. 

“I’m fine,” Puck says. “I’m fine.” He holds his arms out in front of him and twists them. “See? No scratches.” He lets his arms drop. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Really.”

“Shit!” Kurt pounds the steering wheel. “Five fucking gallons of gas, Puck!”

“I know. I know.” Puck finally reaches for his seat belt and pulls it on. “I’m sorry. I got pissed off.”

Kurt stops yelling, but the tears don’t stop running down his face. “That was stupid. Don’t be stupid.”

“I know.” Puck looks out his window for a second. “Pull over in the Honda place for a second.”

“I don’t care if your fucking gas cans are falling off the roof,” Kurt snaps. “I don’t care.” Still, he slows the Nav and rolls it into the Honda dealership parking lot.

“Not to get out,” Puck retorts, and when the Nav stops, he unbuckles his seat belt and leans across the Nav, bringing their lips together almost harshly. Kurt resists at first, holding himself stiffly, tears still rolling down his cheeks, but after a moment he relents, letting his mouth open. He brings one hand up, running it over the back of Puck’s head, almost petting it. Puck’s hand curls around the back of Kurt’s neck, his tongue darting into Kurt’s mouth before he pulls back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, running his thumb along Kurt’s cheek, catching some of Kurt’s tears. “Okay, Stud? I’m sorry.”

“I could have shot you,” Kurt says softly. “I keep pulling to the right. I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t.” Puck presses his lips softly against Kurt’s again. “Now we’re gonna drive to Columbus Grove and have some lunch, and then we’ll have our triumphant return to Lima. Okay?”

“Okay.” Kurt takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “ _Never_ scare me like that again. You got it, Butterfly?”

“Got it, Stud.”

“Now hand me my sunglasses,” Kurt says, holding out his hand. “I hate this fucking town.”

  


**Puck’s Rules of Zombie Survival, #14: It's dangerous if someone doesn't have your back. It's also dangerous if someone does.**

It's an Asshole-eat-Asshole world now, and sure, some of the Assholes are like the guys at Winchesters, but some of them are going to be like the ones at McDonald's. There's way too much going on to actually give a shit about someone else, but if Puck didn't have someone to give a shit about, well. He's not sure he would have made it this far, if he's honest. Kurt has his back, and if someone has his back in this new fucked-up world, he's not going to give that up. And yeah, maybe it's more than a little weird just how little it bothers Puck that Kurt, who shoots low and to the right half the time, took a shot just over Puck's right shoulder. But the alternative would have been a lot worse, and if Puck hadn't had Kurt there, there wouldn't have been any alternatives at all. 

It turns out that every Asshole for himself is really more like the two of them against the world.

  


They stop at the Grove Dairy Whip in Columbus Grove. Most of the food is melted or spoiled, but they find a bunch of bananas still on this side of overripe, some stale hamburger buns, a half-empty jar of peanut butter, unopened jars of maraschino cherries and marshmallow fluff, and—much to Puck’s delight—several containers of peanuts and walnuts.

“We should save the nuts,” Puck declares as they make peanut butter and banana sandwiches with the buns. “And we should probably start taking one of those calcium supplements now. No more dairy.”

Kurt nods. “I already miss cheese.”

“I’m just glad we didn’t have room for all those chocolate chip cookies at Costco. Wouldn’t be the same without a glass of milk.” Puck shrugs. “Maybe we’ll learn how to make cheese on our Amish farm.”

“Sure. Just don’t expect me to give up buttons,” Kurt says. “Let’s get back on the road. I don’t want to hit rush hour.” 

Puck laughs. “Yeah, exactly.”


	10. Chapter 10

They enter the Lima city limits a half hour later, and the steady banter they’ve kept up since the Dairy Whip stops abruptly. Even at the edge of the city, it looks like a war zone, with overturned cars and remnants of bodies. The streets are full of trash and the occasional human—or possibly zombie, though Kurt’s money is on human—limb. 

“We should start at Rachel’s,” Kurt says, his tone grim. “See if he made it there.”

“Yeah,” Puck agrees, rolling the window down far enough to put the rifle tip through. “Where...why are all the bodies gone?”

Puck’s right. It isn’t that there aren’t any bodies, so much as there aren’t bodies where there _should_ be bodies. Pools of dried blood where bodies should be. Places where bodies had been before they left Lima, and where they now aren’t. 

“Maybe there’s enough Assholes left in Lima and they’re trying to clean up?” Kurt suggests. “Or the zombies are hungrier, like those ones in Toledo, and they even ate the bones.” He shudders slightly. 

Puck frowns a little but nods. “Yeah, maybe so,” he agrees. He freezes suddenly and rolls down his window a bit more. “Listen.”

Kurt lowers his window and listen. “I hear gunfire and... whooping?” He shakes his head and unsnaps his holster. 

“Definitely other Assholes.” Puck props the rifle against the dash and puts his hand on his own holster. “Think they’re down on the left.”

“Let’s go make friends, then,” Kurt says, turning left. As they approach the public square, they see an extended-cab pickup truck whipping around the corner, a beach chair strapped in the back and someone strapped into the beach chair, firing a gun at a small group of zombies chasing behind. 

“I recognize that truck,” Puck says after a few seconds. “Karofsky.”

“Oh, perfect,” Kurt sighs. “Just when I thought my apocalypse couldn’t improve.” He pulls the Glock out of the holster and sets it on the console, then pulls behind the group of zombies, bringing his rifle up to fire at them from his window. Puck does the same, and between the two of them and the truck’s passenger, the zombies all fall. The truck leaves the square, driving slowly, and comes to a stop in the Rite Aid parking lot. Kurt stops the Nav on the opposite side of the lot, shouldering the rifle and picking up the Glock.

Puck rolls his window down the remainder of the way and nods slightly. “Karofsky.” 

Karofsky looks vaguely surprised. “Puckerman.” He opens his door and climbs out, then walks towards the bed of his truck, untying something before stepping back closer to the front. Azimio hops out of the truck bed, rifle in hand.

“You see that?” Azimio hollers. “Motherfucker! Those bitches were faster than the last ones!”

Puck shrugs. “They’re getting hungrier. We took out eight or ten of the fuckers this morning.” He opens his door and climbs out slowly, hand still on his holster, and he grabs the rifle before shutting the door. Kurt gets out of his side and slowly walks around to stand silently next to Puck, making no effort to hide the Glock. He’s not pointing it at anybody—yet, anyway—but they need to understand that nobody, _nobody_ , is touching Kurt’s shit.

“Uh-huh,” Karofsky nods in acknowledgment. “Where’re you headed?”

“At the moment, trying to find Hudson,” Puck answers. “After that, maybe a nice Amish farm.”

“Our asses are headed to Nebraska,” Azimio says. “Got a cousin out there, plus it’s flat as fuck, no buildings, easy to see the motherfuckers coming.”

“Better get you a garden hose, then,” Puck responds. “Need it for siphoning.”

“You can’t have ours,” Kurt says, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his bandana with his left hand. 

Karofsky turns towards him and stares, jaw dropping just a little bit. “Shit.”

“There a problem?” Kurt asks. He slides the safety off with his thumb, but doesn’t otherwise move the gun.

“ _Hummel_?” Karofsky says incredulously. 

Kurt squints at Karofsky, trying to figure out what, in fact, the problem might be. He cuts his eyes over to Puck and shrugs one shoulder. Puck grins a little. “Think you surprised ‘em, Stud.”

“Guess so,” Kurt answer, shaking his head. “Well, as nice as this little reunion has been, we’re looking for my brother. Have either of you seen him?”

Karofsky shakes his head slowly. “Nope. Az did take out a zombified Figgins, though.”

“That was a high point,” Azimio says, nodding slowly and taking a step towards the Nav. “You ladies got a spare gun for Karofsky here?”

Kurt smiles and raises the Glock, pointing it at Azimio. “If you take one more step towards my shit, I’ll give you part of this one.”

“I’d listen to him,” Puck says mildly, drawing his own handgun, though he leaves it pointed at the ground in front of Karofsky. “Or you could go ask the guy he shot a few days back.”

Azimio takes a quick step backwards. “Okay, okay! Calm your tits! Just askin’!”

“We’ll just be on our way,” Karofsky says, nodding a little. “Uh, good luck finding Hudson.”

“Thanks.” Puck smirks. “We’ll just wait here while you drive away, okay?”

Azimio climbs back into the truck bed, which appears to be full of crates and bins, along with the beach chair. “Whatever. You girls have fun now.” 

As Karofsky starts up his truck, Puck mutters out of the side of his mouth to Kurt. “If it wasn’t wasting ammo, I’d fire a shot about a foot over Azimio’s head.” He pauses. “Or maybe just six inches.”

“Make it three and I’d be willing to waste the ammo,” Kurt says. 

Puck laughs. “I hear you.” He turns his head to the side. “Company’s coming. Time to head out.” 

Before Kurt walks back to the driver’s side, he grabs the front of Puck’s shirt, pulling him into a fierce kiss before releasing him. “Now we head out,” he agrees, getting back in the Nav. 

Puck grins and shuts the door, rolling the window most of the way up. “Next stop, the Berrys.”

“If Assholes like Karofsky and Azimio can make it,” Kurt begins, then shrugs. 

“Yeah.” Puck sighs a little. “You’d think.”

When the rest of the drive to the Berry house is relatively fast and clear, Kurt starts feeling hopeful for the first time since this nightmare started. Something might go right for once. That feeling dissipates fairly quickly, when they pull into Rachel’s driveway and look at the house.

“The door,” Kurt mutters. Rachel’s front door is splintered and bloody, part of it still hanging from the top hinge. “Look at the door.”

“But Finn’s truck isn’t here,” Puck points out. “Zombies and Eatens don’t drive trucks.”

“Maybe he took them and he left. They might have gone back to our house, even,” Kurt says. “Still.” He looks at the house again. “We should check.”

Puck nods and grabs the shotgun, swinging the rifle across his back as he climbs out of the Nav. “Neighborhood’s quiet.” They approach the door cautiously, and Puck ducks his head in. “Can’t tell. Good thing it’s not any darker, already hard to see in there.”

Kurt follows Puck into the house, covering his mouth and nose as the smell inside hits him. It smells like rot and shit and death, and Kurt knows they aren’t finding anything good in that house. 

Puck stops several feet into the living room. “I can’t remember what you’re supposed to say, so pretend I said some Hebrew shit for Mr. Berry,” he says with a sigh. 

“Hiram or LeRoy?” Kurt asks. “Or both?”

“Looks like Hiram,” Puck answers, skirting the edge of the room and going into the kitchen. He snorts. “Looks like they were having a damn party,” he says as he stops in the middle of the kitchen. He scans the various liquor bottles and the bottle of pills. “No Chocovine though. Dammit.” 

“Only the Berrys would celebrate the apocalypse with Xanax and cosmos,” Kurt sighs, picking up the bottle of pills. He slips the bottle into his pocket. “Let’s keep looking.”

“Idiots,” Puck mutters, then heads into the hallway, shotgun still in hand. He stops a few steps in and sighs. “Fuck.”

Kurt feels his stomach turn over. “Is it...?” He can’t quite bring himself to finish the question.

“Rachel,” Puck answers. “Um. Close your eyes and grab my belt and we’ll go upstairs.” Kurt doesn’t even question it. He closes his eyes and puts his free hand on Puck’s belt, and lets Puck lead him up the stairs. “Rachel’s bedroom door is shut,” Puck announces. “You can open your eyes now, I think.”

Kurt opens his eyes, only looking straight ahead and not in the direction they came from. “Try the door?” he suggests. 

Puck nods and tries the door. “Locked.” He picks the lock quickly, but even then, the door barely budges. “Yeah, there’s furniture or something behind it. We’re gonna have to shove pretty hard.”

Kurt nods and says, “Three,” and they both push hard against the door, slowly edging the piece of furniture back enough for Puck to peer inside. 

“No one’s in here,” Puck announces. “But the window’s open. And.” He laughs for just a second. “Somebody made a rope. It’s tied to the bedpost, heading out the window.”

“Finn,” Kurt breathes. “He loves those prison break movies.”

Puck chuckles again. “Yeah, hope he had a few seconds at least to enjoy it before he had to run. So. He climbs down, gets back in his truck, and goes...somewhere.”

“Home,” Kurt says, confidently. “He said he’d come here and then he’d go home, and if that’s what he said, that’s what he tried to do.” He exhales loudly. “God, Rachel Berry, if my brother’s somewhere dead because of you, I’m coming back and kicking your body.”

“I’ll help you,” Puck promises. “Let’s get out of here. Grab my belt again. I’d say to check for supplies, but since their idea of supplies was booze, I don’t think it’s worth the time. And there’s more water at your place.”

Kurt closes his eyes and grabs Puck’s belt, holding his breath until they’re back on the main level and Puck tells him to open his eyes. “Want to grab that bottle of vodka from the kitchen?” he asks Puck.

“Yeah, why not,” Puck agrees. “Assuming your house is in decent shape, we’ll be okay tonight, I think.”

“We’ll drink it when we find Finn,” Kurt says. “Maybe we’ll get some Tang at the Kroger.”

Puck laughs and darts into the kitchen to grab the vodka, then they head back to the Nav. “Even if he’s not there, we need to find a place soon. If not your place, somewhere.”

Kurt nods. The street is still clear in front of Rachel’s house, and while they do see a few zombies here and there, it’s nothing like the volume they’ve seen in previous towns. The streets remain conspicuously free of bodies, though; they pass areas where Kurt had seen multiple corpses before that are now dried smears of blood and nothing else. The route home is longer and more roundabout than Kurt would have ever taken Before, but it keeps them off the larger roads, and they still reach Kurt’s house faster than he’d thought they would. 

“Moment of truth,” Kurt breathes. Puck hops out of the Nav and raises the garage door, and Kurt backs into the garage. After turning off the engine, he gets out and tries the knob on the door leading into the house while Puck lowers the garage door. It’s still locked, so he actually has to return to the Nav and dig through his satchel for the key. 

Kurt doesn’t hear any movement from the other side of the door, but he still draws the Glock and holds it while he unlocks the door. He looks back at Puck, who nods, then he pushes the door open. They walk inside together, and the first thing Kurt thinks is how relieved he is that the inside of his house only smells like spoiled produce, and not like the Berry house.

“Finn?” Kurt calls out softly, then without looking at Puck, “Dad?”

“Few things have been moved,” Puck says quietly as they walk further inside. “Someone’s been here since we left, Stud.”

Kurt forces himself to keep his movements slow, instead of rushing to the kitchen. When they do get into the kitchen, though, he heaves a small sigh of relief. “My note is gone. If some random Asshole had come in here, why would they take my note?”

“Peas’re gone, too,” Puck says, sounding almost amused. “Let’s clear the rest of this floor and check Finn’s room.”

Kurt nods, and lets Puck lead them through the rest of the house. Nothing in the living room has changed, but Finn’s bedroom is in disarray—more than usual, even—and his laptop and phone charger are both missing. Several drawers have been emptied and Finn’s letterman jacket isn’t in the closet anymore.

“He was definitely here,” Kurt says. “Come on, Finn. Where are you?”

“Can’t tell how long ago,” Puck sighs, after walking around the room once. “We should check the refrigerator. If he ate something, it was before the power went. If not, he was after.”

They go back to the kitchen and Kurt says, “Check the butter. And the tortillas.”

“Okay,” Puck says. “But butter’s like, the last thing to go bad, so that’s not going to tell us when he was here.”

“Check anyway. It’s like confirmation that it was him,” Kurt says. “Please? Humor me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Puck says, opening the refrigerator and wrinkling his nose. “Damn, that stinks.” He looks in the door. “Yeah, there’s some butter missing.” He pokes it experimentally. “It’s really soft now.”

“If he ate it, it was before it got too soft,” Kurt says. “So that doesn’t narrow it down by much, but it’s something, right?” 

“Hmm.” Puck leans against the wall. “Power grid went out Tuesday. It’s Thursday. So he was probably here late Tuesday or sometime yesterday.” He sighs. “There’s still water in the tubs and sinks here. We should stay here tonight, refill the empties we kept from that.”

“My bed!” Kurt allows himself one small bounce in place and a small clap. “I love my bed!”

Puck grins. “Yeah, your bed. Your shower, too, though it’ll be cold.”

“My shampoo and conditioner and body wash. I’m going to smell so nice!”

“You want to go shower now?” Puck offers. “I’ll make dinner.”

Kurt grins at Puck and takes a step over to kiss him. “My Butterfly is the sweetest,” he teases. “I’ll be down when I smell good.”

Puck returns the grin and chuckles. “Okay, Stud.”

Even though the water is cold, Kurt takes his time in the shower. He washes and conditions his hair, uses his body wash and his facial scrub, then shaves and does his best to style his still-damp hair. After he’s done in the bathroom, he puts on his most complicated, least practical outfit—the one with the most straps and buckles—before going back to the kitchen. Puck’s at the kitchen counter assembling something, and Kurt wraps his arms around Puck’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Puck’s shoulder.

“Ooh, what’s that!” Kurt asks. 

Puck turns his head a little and grins. “Marshmallow fluff sundaes. With cherries on top.” He laughs and kisses Kurt’s cheek. 

“Is that dinner?” Kurt asks. “I approve of that dinner, if so.”

“Nope. Dessert. Dinner’s more banana sandwiches and your watermelon,” Puck explains, slowly turning around and then running his eyes up and down Kurt. “You look nice, Stud.”

“Why, thank you,” Kurt says, smiling. “Dinner looks wonderful!”

Puck picks up the two bowls and then leans forward, kissing Kurt softly. “Oh, and a delicious calcium chew,” he adds. “Just think of it as the after-dinner mint.”

“I had no idea this was a five star joint. I hope I’m dressed appropriately,” Kurt giggles. 

“I think you’ll do,” Puck smirks, setting the bowls on the table and then taking a seat. “Though, I don’t know about you, but I was thinking about going to bed early tonight.”

“Oh, are you tired?” 

“Thoroughly exhausted.” Puck picks up a slice of watermelon and grins. “Or at least I’m pretty sure I will be by the time I fall asleep.”

“Yes, you probably will be,” Kurt says, eating his sandwich. “Poor, tired, delicate Butterfly.”

“That’s me,” Puck says agreeably. “Very delicate.” He looks up and smirks. “Also, I think I’ll need some extra time with those buckles.”

“I thought you might like the full Original Kurt Hummel experience,” Kurt says. “If you aren’t up to the challenge, though...”

“Oh, I’m _up_ for it,” Puck says, still smirking. “Just thought I’d give myself some wiggle room. So to speak.”

“If you can’t figure out how clothes work, I can handle the complicated parts for you,” Kurt offers. “I’ll leave you the easy parts.”

“Mmm, which are the easy parts? You might have to show me what to do. I can be the stand-in.”

“Hmm,” Kurt hums thoughtfully for a moment. “I think... we should bring our sundaes upstairs for later.”

“Advantage to the dairy-free sundae,” Puck agrees, pushing back from the table and standing up. “Grab your spoon.”

Kurt does, in fact, grab his spoon, then leads Puck upstairs to Kurt’s bedroom. Puck stands in the middle of the room, his sundae on the dresser, and he looks at Kurt expectantly. Kurt gives Puck a sweeping glance. 

“Well,” Kurt begins. “First things first.” He steps close to Puck, resting his hand in the middle of Puck’s chest, then slowly sliding it down Puck’s stomach and the front of his jeans, before moving it around to Puck’s right hip, where he unsnaps the holster and pulls out the gun. He grins at Puck before placing the gun on the bedside table. “For protection,” he explains.

“Absolutely,” Puck says, maintaining a straight face for a moment as he nods. 

“Now, this,” Kurt says. He catches the bottom edge of Puck’s tank top, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the ground. “You don’t need that.”

“Was sort of hoping you’d say that.”

“Mmm, these either.” Kurt unfastens Puck’s jeans and pushes them and Puck’s underwear to the ground. 

“Excellent!”

“And now...” Kurt trails one finger down Puck’s chest.

“And now?” Puck parrots back. 

“And now... you go take a shower. I’m all clean and pretty, and you smell like zombie.” Kurt wrinkles his nose. “The cucumber scrub is lovely.”

“I’m just going to get sweaty again,” Puck protests half-heartedly, but he walks to the bathroom without any additional instruction. Kurt hears the water running, and he sits at the edge of the bed to wait. The shower only runs for four minutes or so, and another minute passes before Puck comes out of the bathroom, still naked.

Kurt hasn’t had much opportunity to just _look_ at Puck, so the sight of Puck naked and golden and still damp from the shower is enough to leave Kurt momentarily speechless. Puck walks a few steps into the room and then stops, a small smile on his face. 

“Better?”

“You’re _gorgeous_ ,” Kurt blurts, then blushes. 

Puck’s smile gets a little wider and he straightens a little. “Thanks.” He sweeps his eyes over Kurt again. “Guess we’d better get you out of all those buckles so I can tell you how hot you are.”

“Think you can handle all these buckles?” Kurt asks. 

“Willing to try,” Puck says with a shrug, stepping closer to Kurt. “As long as I’m clean enough for you, I mean.” With that, he raises his arms and turns slowly in place, dropping his arms back to his side when he finishes. “What’s the verdict?”

“The verdict is come here and kiss me,” Kurt replies. “Before I start working on these buckles without you.”

Puck laughs and bends down, wrapping one arm around Kurt’s back and bringing their lips together. Kurt runs his hands over Puck’s chest and hips, and when Puck moves his lips to Kurt’s jaw, Kurt pulls him closer and smells vanilla sugar body wash. 

“You smell almost as good as you look,” Kurt says. 

Puck’s lips ghost over Kurt’s neck, and his hands move to one of Kurt’s buckles. “Gonna get you out of these,” he murmurs. 

“Need some help?” 

“Are you sure there’s not hidden padlocks on this?” Puck grumbles after a few seconds pass. 

Kurt giggles. “You _sure_ you don’t need some help? It’s okay if you need some hand-holding. Clothes are hard.”

“Really kind of hoping you’d be holding something _other_ than my hand,” Puck says, and he nips at Kurt’s neck. “I refuse to be defeated by fabric and metal.”

“I have fabric scissors in my desk. It’s not like I’ll be taking this with me,” Kurt says, shrugging. “We can retire it with a bang.”

“Uh.” Puck stills for a moment, then lets out a long breath. “Okay.” He straightens and walks over to Kurt’s desk, then looks back at Kurt. “Which drawer?”

Kurt bites down on a giggle, answering, “The bottom drawer, I think.” 

Puck leans over and opens the bottom drawer, rummaging through it for a moment before looking over his shoulder at Kurt. “Stud.”

“Did I say bottom drawer? I must have meant top drawer,” Kurt says, letting the giggle out. “I think I may have just wanted to watch you search the bottom drawer.”

Puck pulls out the top drawer even more quickly, grabbing the scissors and then stalking back over to Kurt. “Is that so?” he says, grinning. 

“Possibly.” 

“I see.” Puck pushes Kurt back gently, then grabs the bottom of Kurt’s shirt and starts cutting. “I believe you said ‘with a bang’,” he adds, working his way up Kurt’s chest and then down one arm before going back to the other arm. “Oh, that’s better,” he says appreciatively, lowering his mouth on Kurt’s chest and biting at it. 

“Better,” Kurt agrees, his breathing already rapid. “Might have to cut the pants off, too. More buckles. Also zippers.”

“Oh, good,” Puck says. “I mean.” He grins and kneels on the floor, starting at the hem on Kurt’s right leg and slowly cutting straight up before repeating the process with Kurt’s left. “Just one more thing,” he murmurs against Kurt’s lips. 

“But those don’t have any buckles,” Kurt says. 

“Let’s pretend,” Puck suggests, and then he snips at either side of the waistband of kurt’s underwear before flinging the scissors vaguely in the direction of Kurt’s desk. 

“I like pretending,” Kurt agrees, resting one hand on the back of Puck’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. 

After, they sleep in shifts until one, but there’s nothing on the streets, not zombies or Assholes, so they spend the rest of the night curled together on the bed, waking up around 5:45. They both dress in their jeans and tank tops, strapping on their harnesses and holsters, and Kurt has a brief moment of self-awareness, wherein he realizes how very natural all the weaponry feels already, and how very strange that _should_ be.

Breakfast is the rest of the bananas and a handful of walnuts a piece, plus all the stale-tasting water they can drink from the various containers. The sky is barely light when they roll the Nav out of the garage, locking up behind themselves, and start on the south side of town, driving through all the residential streets for any sign of Finn or his truck. 

The positive part of this foray is that they’re able to stop periodically and siphon gasoline from abandoned cars, topping off the gas can that almost got Puck killed and keeping the Nav filled as they go. They also only see three lone zombies, all of which take a bullet to the head, plus a bonus down-and-to-the-right in one of them, so that’s a positive, too. The negative is that after several hours of driving, they still haven’t seen Finn’s truck, or even a truck _like_ Finn’s. SUVs, sedans, trucks that look nothing like Finn’s, and even a little compact car that looks so much like Tina’s that Kurt has to stop looking at it. 

“At first I thought I was going a little crazy,” Puck says, “but I’ve seen enough shadows and curtains twitching that I’m pretty sure some of these houses have live ones in them.”

“Live ones?” Kurt asks. “But not Assholes?”

“Eatens that don’t know it yet,” Puck says, shrugging a little. “If I can spot them watching me while we’re siphoning, looking for Finn, and killing Zombies, I’m not sure they qualify as Assholes.”

“Future Eatens or zombies we’ll have to kill later,” Kurt sighs. “We were so unprepared, Puck. If you hadn’t showed up at my house—”

“But I did,” Puck interrupts. “So. Why worry about it?” He says it gently, though, and shrugs. 

“We could have done a thousand little things differently, either one of us,” Kurt says, nodding. “Any one thing could have been the thing we screwed up, and that thing could have screwed up everything else. Butterfly Effect,” he adds, smiling at Puck. “But we didn’t.”

“Butterfly, huh?” Puck grins. “Guess so.”

“Yeah. Butterfly. The one little thing that changes everything.” 

Puck’s grin looks a little wry, but he reaches out and rests his hand on Kurt’s shoulder until the next time they take a turn. The cars on the street thin out and they don’t stop as often to siphon, and the gas gauge needle starts to dip around the time they cut down, across, and back up to avoid coming too close to the First Baptist church. They both remember the zombie congregation in Toledo and neither is eager for a repeat performance. 

The Taco Bell on Allentown proves to be a goldmine for abandoned cars, though, and they go vehicle to vehicle, siphoning gas until the Nav’s tank is full. Puck even finds another gas can in the back of a Jeep, and Kurt giggles at the excited little side-to-side foot shuffle that he’s noticed Puck always does when he discovers a gas can, which Kurt’s mentally labeled the ‘gas can-can’—not that he would ever, _ever_ mention this to Puck.

They’re siphoning gas from the Jeep into that gas can when they hear the screaming and a volley of gunfire. Kurt looks up sharply and glances up and down the street, but doesn’t see anyone or anyzombie. “Damn,” Puck mutters. “Okay, we’re going to get back in the Nav now,” he announces, pulling the hose out of the Jeep and draining it. “Gunfire means Zombies.”

Kurt nods in agreement, though he keeps looking around to try and determine the direction of the screams, which are female... and fading. He starts the Nav and they drive one block west to North Cable to start the next section of residential area. They find the source of the screams in the Walgreens parking lot on the corner of Allentown and North Cable.

The group of eight or so zombies doesn’t turn towards the Nav at all, so Kurt slows enough to be able to see the body of a pink-haired woman—or more likely a teenage girl, though it’s hard to tell age without a face to work from—being devoured by zombies. One of the woman’s legs twitches, and that’s when Kurt notices the shoes. They’re horribly impractical shoes for a zombie apocalypse—strappy sandals with a slight heel and no ankle support—even if they were purchased at a 60% discount and were the only pair in that color.

Kurt knows this, because he was there when Quinn bought those shoes. The girl in the parking lot is—was—Quinn Fabray. Kurt looks at Puck anxiously to see if he can tell, if he has any idea who’s being eaten in the Walgreens parking lot, but Puck’s eyes have already shifted to scan for other zombies. Kurt floors the Nav and says a silent goodbye to Quinn, and he doesn’t say anything to Puck.

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #15: Assholes look after their own.**

When a person hears screaming, his or her instincts usually say to go to the screaming, and help the screamer. It's part of the better nature of humanity. The problem is that those better instincts are a good way to get killed, and Puck is trying hard _not_ to get killed, and for Kurt not to get killed either. 

So it’s harsh and cold, maybe, or it would seem that way, Before, but if Puck hears screams or gunfire, that only means one thing now: go the other way.

  


The rest of the afternoon is a blur of driving through neighborhoods, siphoning gas, periodic breaks for food, and drive-bys on zombies. In terms of the quest to locate Finn, however, it’s fruitless. Kurt vacillates between frustration over not making any sort of forward progress and panic that this means they _won’t_ find Finn.

“This is a waste of time!” Kurt finally exclaims, after another long street of siphoning, shooting, and no Finn-truck. “I’m never going to find him!”

“Let’s go back and eat dinner,” Puck says calmly. “Start fresh again in the morning. Maybe we’re doing it wrong. He’d need supplies, too. We could check some parking lots. Head back up Allentown to the Wal-Mart, go over towards the Big Lots. Maybe check a Ray’s.”

“Okay. Yes, we’ll do that,” Kurt responds. “I’m sorry. I’m bitchy and I’m aware that I’m bitchy.”

Puck grins a little. “Just don’t get bitchy enough to shoot me and we’ll be fine.”

Kurt laughs, and says, “Nobody’s shown up with that sausage biscuit yet, so I think your odds of making it out without me shooting you are pretty high.”

“I may preemptively shoot a pig the next time we’re passing a farm,” Puck announces as they turn onto Elm. 

“Unless it’s a zombie pig, that’s a waste of ammo.”

“Not if it reduces my chances of being shot!” Puck says, laughing. “Couple of loners coming up on the right.”

“Speed and avoid or slow and shoot?” Kurt asks. 

“Shoot them now and we don’t have to shoot them later,” Puck responds. Kurt slows down, and Puck lowers the window another inch, rifle poking out. His finger is on the trigger when he suddenly sits up. “Shit! What the fucking hell?”

“What?” Kurt peers out the window. “What are we—oh, _shit_!” he says, because one of those zombies is wearing a familiar dress, paired with the chewed remains of knee high socks above ballerina flats. “That can’t be Rachel. Puck... how—she was _eaten!_ ”

“I know!” Puck sounds a little frantic. “We saw her. And Hiram, too!” He jerks the rifle towards the other zombie. He takes two deep breaths and squeezes the trigger, hitting Hiram in the nose. He moves the rifle a little and then stops. 

Kurt puts his hand on Puck’s leg and squeezes. “That’s not Rachel, Puck. Rachel had a face. That’s not her. It’s just a zombie.” 

“Yeah.” Puck exhales. “Yeah. Just a stupid fucking trick.” He aims the rifle again and fires. The zombie that’s not Rachel falls and Kurt drives away without looking back.

“That’s right, Butterfly. Just a trick.”

Puck is silent for the rest of the drive back to Kurt’s house, which is fine by Kurt; he doesn’t feel like talking, either. He does keep his hand on Puck’s leg and squeezes or pats it occasionally, until they’re backing into Kurt’s garage again and locking up behind themselves. 

“We should eat first,” Kurt says, firmly. “Then we figure out what the hell is happening.”

“More furniture in front of the doors,” Puck insists as they enter the house. 

“Okay, we’ll do that first, then we’ll eat,” Kurt agrees, and they drag furniture around, some of it room-to-room, until Puck calms down. Then Puck makes something of a production of deciding what they’re eating for dinner, finally settling on canned hash, canned corn, and canned carrots, along with a calcium chew. 

“We need to check for gardens again,” Puck says. “Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.”

“Maybe we’ll find another watermelon. There’s still time for those, right?”

“Yeah, another week or two, I think,” Puck nods, stabbing a carrot with his fork. “More melons and apples would be good.” He takes a bite and puts down his fork with a sigh. 

“I want something unusual. A cantaloupe. Pears.” Kurt tips his head to the side in thought. “I never would have considered either of those unusual a week ago.”

“Yeah.” Puck shakes his head. “I don’t know, if we find enough stuff, maybe we should build a fire one afternoon. Actually cook some squash or early sweet potatoes.”

“Mmm. When did ‘cook’ become such a sexy word?” Kurt asks. 

Puck grins. “We’re just rewriting the language all over the place.” He sobers. “Speaking of rewriting shit.” He sighs. “Okay, we saw their bodies. Their Eaten bodies. Yesterday. And today, they were Zombies.”

“Are we sure they were really dead?” Kurt asks, even though he knows the answer. He saw the zombie-that-wasn’t-Rachel’s face. 

“I’m sure.” Puck frowns. “We never did see LeRoy. Maybe he was just in a different room.”

“Well.” Kurt sighs. “The only thing that seems to put them down is a shot through the head, so... maybe it’s the same with the Eatens?”

“They aren’t really dead unless...” Puck’s frown grows deeper. “Okay, let’s pretend the old movies are any help. What do Zombies supposedly eat?”

“Brains, right? It’s brains.” Kurt shakes his head. “But we know these things eat—I mean, they just _eat_.”

“Maybe...maybe an Eaten _with_ a brain can become a Zombie? After awhile?” Puck guesses. “Too bad we didn’t note the difference between headless Eatens and those with heads, at some point.”

“Oh, god,” Kurt groans. “All those bodies. The bodies that aren’t there anymore.”

“Fuck.” Puck puts his head on the table briefly. “That would explain where they went. Not Assholes. Not hungry Zombies.”

“And maybe... that might explain why the first ones were so slow and stupid?” Kurt suggests. “But suddenly we started seeing the faster ones, the ones that were _really_ hungry.”

“So I guess there’s... two ways to become a Zombie?” Puck pauses. “The first ones were probably bitten. Then we have the ones that were Eaten first. Who, like you said, are hungrier and faster.”

“Shit,” Kurt whispers. “Does this change things? Do we need to do something different than what we’re doing?”

“I think.” Puck looks like he’s thinking. “At least as long as we’re in Lima, if we see an Eaten, maybe we should.” He grimaces. “Will shooting it before it becomes a Zombie work? Or, I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either,” Kurt says. “I don’t know. I just... god, I sound like a six year old, but I just want to find my brother, Puck. I just want to find Finn and leave Lima.”

“Yeah, I know,” Puck agrees. “I think we have to destroy the brains. If there are Eatens anywhere, we need to destroy their brains, somehow.” He pushes his plate away. “We can finish eating in an hour or two.”

“Want to bring it upstairs with us?” Kurt asks gently. “We’ll eat more later, we can just go on upstairs now.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Puck agrees, standing up with his plate. Kurt picks up a container of water and carries that and his plate up to his bedroom, Puck following. When they get upstairs, they set their plates and the water on Kurt’s desk, then they slide Kurt’s dresser in front of the door, and then both of them undress and get into the bed together. Puck rests his head on Kurt’s chest, closing his eyes, and Kurt wraps his arms tightly around Puck, holding him close. After a moment, Kurt starts stroking one hand down Puck’s head and back, and he continues doing that until Puck relaxes into sleep. Only then does Kurt close his eyes and let himself fall asleep, too.


	11. Chapter 11

How can something so abnormal become routine so quickly? They wake early, eat canned food, and drive through another large residential area looking for Finn’s truck, and even though they shoot a half-dozen zombies along the way, it feels almost _boring_. Kurt’s body seems to have lost the ability to muster up an adrenaline spike, and the morning drags on for hours in the more bizarre sort of monotony. 

They drive through downtown, which is empty, and then by the mall, where they see the largest swarm of zombies yet, all flocked around the building. Something inside must be drawing their attention, because as Kurt passes, he can see them clawing at the glass doors. Whatever it is, people or something else, there’s nothing Kurt or Puck can do, so they keep driving. 

“Wal-Mart?” Kurt suggests.

“Yeah, we didn’t get that far out Allentown yesterday,” Puck agrees. 

The Wal-Mart parking lot is predictably full of cars, but there’s no movement in the lot other than the Nav, and no familiar truck. “Finn’s not here,” Kurt says. 

“No, but no one else is, either,” Puck points out. “Should we get some lunch while we’re here? I know it’s been almost a week, but maybe they have some oranges or something still.”

“Sure. I’d even take a lemon or a lime at this point,” Kurt says. They park the Nav, load up their weapons, and walk to the front doors. The automatic doors are frozen shut, but Puck picks the lock on the standard door next to them. 

“Let’s just hit the produce and head back out,” Puck says as he pushes the door open. “I could get too distracted in here, otherwise.” He grins and gestures to all the aisles. 

“Yes. Get in, get out,” Kurt says. He shudders a little. “Wal-Marts in general give me the creeps.”

“At least you know we’re paying the lowest price possible,” Puck smirks, and they walk over to the produce department, where there are a few oranges. Puck picks up a bag and turns to Kurt. “Anything you wanted particularly?”

“Shh.” Kurt waves a hand in Puck’s direction, listening. He thinks he hears something, like a soft rustling, but once Puck is still, he doesn’t hear it again. “Paranoid,” he sighs. “Sorry. Uh, maybe check the apples?”

“Good plan,” Puck nods, and they grab a bag of apples as well. 

“We should hit automotive before we leave, get some more gas cans,” Kurt suggests. 

“Trying to seduce me, Stud?” Puck jokes. Kurt grins back at him.

“Yes. You’re so smart!” Kurt leans over and brushes his lips against Puck’s. “Come on. Let’s get your gas cans and get out of here. It smells weird.”

Kurt brings his rifle up out of habit and leads them down the aisle towards automotive. “Maybe we can grab some more oil while we’re here,” Kurt says, without turning back to look at Puck while they walk. “When we find Finn, his truck’ll probably need it. He’s so bad about that kind of stuff.” He weaves through a few aisles, heading in the direction of the hanging ‘Automotive’ sign. “And his truck is kind of an oil-guzzler under the best of circumstances.”

Kurt realizes then that Puck hasn’t made a noise for the last thirty seconds or so, and when he turns to look behind him, Puck isn’t there. “Hey, Butterfly? Where’d you go?” He goes back an aisle and turns the other direction, and then he sees them.

Close to thirty zombies mill around between two aisles of light bulbs, and Kurt’s standing at the entrance to that aisle, staring at them, and he doesn’t know where Puck is. He takes a step backwards, then another one, and he thinks he’s almost made it, he’s almost away from the aisle, when his shoe squeaks on the floor. The zombies shift in his direction, and there’s a split second pause before they start moving up the aisle towards him. 

“Shit!” Kurt screams. “Puck! Fuck!” He turns and runs back in the direction of the front of the store. “Puck!”

“Kurt?” Puck’s voice echoes weirdly. 

“Puck!” Kurt keeps shouting, and the zombies start running in the same direction, slowly gaining on him. “Where are you?” He hits a slick spot on the floor and his feet almost fly out from under him, sending him careening shoulder-first into an endcap. Kurt shoves off of it with both hands, propelling himself forward, but the brief pause means the nearest zombies are within a few paces of him now. He dodges sideways down an aisle, back towards the rear of the store. “PUCK!”

“Shoot ‘em!” Puck yells. “I’m trying to find you.”

There’s no way Kurt can bring the rifle back up while he’s running, so he pulls the Glock out of its holster and starts firing over his shoulder. One is close enough that he catches it in the face with his first shot, but the next two shots go back into the swarm, and if those zombies fall, he can’t see and it doesn’t matter. He keeps firing over his shoulder, counting as he goes, and when he takes a tenth shot, he knows the next sound the Glock makes will be a click. He shoves the Glock back into its holster, grabbing the other pistol from his belt, just as two pairs of hands snag the back of his shirt.

The zombies’ hands claw at Kurt’s clothes and his arms, he can _hear_ their teeth snapping, and he’s half-dragging at least one behind him when he reaches the end of the aisle. Puck appears two aisles over just a couple of seconds later, his handgun drawn as he turns towards Kurt. He crosses the remaining distance and brings the gun up, hitting both of the zombies at close range. “Fuck!” he shouts, looking back down the aisle at the other zombies coming, and he grabs Kurt’s arm, pulling him towards a nearby doorway. “C’mon, Kurt!”

They hit the swinging door at full speed, shouldering it open, and it swings back and hits the closest zombie with a crunch. “Where?” Kurt shrieks. 

“In here!” Puck says, diving for one of the doors and pulling Kurt in with him before slamming the steel door shut and locking it. Puck slumps against the door and pulls Kurt towards him, wrapping him in a hug before he stiffens. “Shit. You’re bleeding. There’s blood on my hand.” He runs his hands over Kurt’s arms and swears. “Hang on, I’ll get the flashlight on.” There’s another few seconds of darkness before the Maglite flares to life, and Kurt can briefly see Puck’s face before Puck turns the light on Kurt’s arms. “Shit, Stud. C’mon, let’s wash that off.”

“Puck,” Kurt says, hearing the note of panic in his own voice. “I don’t know what I cut it on.”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Puck turns on the water and grabs a paper towel, slowly washing the cut on the upper part of Kurt’s left arm. 

“No, it’s not okay! Puck, listen to me!” Kurt grabs at the front of Puck’s shirt. “I don’t know what I cut it on. I don’t know if one of them scratched me or, _fuck_ , Puck! It could have been a claw or a tooth or—”

“I heard you!” Puck says, tossing the paper towel on the floor of the bathroom and propping the Maglite up between the faucet and the wall. “I fucking heard you. I know.” Puck stares Kurt, then at his arm, still bleeding, and he closes his eyes and shudders a little before opening them. “I know, Stud. I know.” He puts his hand on Kurt’s wrist, lifting Kurt’s arm up, and before Kurt can register what Puck is doing, Puck bends his head down and then licks Kurt’s arm, up the entire length of the cut. 

Kurt shouts and shoves Puck, trying to twist his arm away. “Puck! Stop! Fucking _stop_ it! Spit it out!”

Puck straightens and deliberately swallows, running his tongue around the outside of his mouth, eyes gleaming in the weird shadows from the Maglite. Kurt starts shaking and he shoves Puck again, hard. 

“Stupid! You told me not to be stupid, but what the fuck was that?” Kurt shoves Puck again, screaming at him. “What if they bit me? What if they clawed me?” He balls up his fist and brings it down on Puck’s chest. “What if I _have it_?”

Puck wraps his hand around Kurt’s wrist and pulls Kurt’s chin up with his other hand. “You think I could—” He breaks off. “We’re finishing this together, Stud. You hear me?”

Kurt stops struggling. “We don’t—we don’t even know how this works. How it’s spread, how long it takes? What if a scratch doesn’t do it, but getting it in your mouth does? What if you—”

Puck lets go of Kurt’s wrist and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his Swiss Army knife and pulling out the main blade. “Together,” he repeats, then puts the knife to his own upper arm. He winces and drags the blade down, the cut appearing to nearly match Kurt’s own. 

Kurt looks at the blood trickling down Puck’s arm, then at Puck’s face. “You are so stupid, Butterfly,” Kurt says, then he leans his face towards Puck’s arm, lapping the line of blood and then running his tongue along the cut. It’s hot and salty and metallic, and his mouth is still wet with it when he presses his lips against Puck’s. 

Puck responds immediately, pushing Kurt back against the wall as his tongue forces its way inside Kurt’s mouth. There’s a brief clatter as Puck drops his knife, and then both of Puck’s hands fist in the front of Kurt’s tank top. One of Kurt’s hands wraps around the back of Puck’s neck, the other clawing down Puck’s arm over the cut, making him hiss. 

Puck pulls his mouth away roughly, and then his tongue is running along Kurt’s arm again, the tip of Puck’s tongue dipping inside the cut before curling up. He pushes his tongue through Kurt’s lips again, and his tongue slides along Kurt’s, slick with blood. Kurt moans into Puck’s mouth, pulling him closer, his nails digging into Puck’s skin wherever he can touch it. This time, he’s the one who pulls his mouth away, biting Puck’s lip before licking along the edge of his jaw and down his throat, nipping at Puck’s pulse. 

Through the door, Kurt can hear scratching and scuffling, but it sounds so far away and irrelevant. This, here, is what matters, being inside this room with Puck, mouths on skin. Kurt doesn’t know how it works; if he’s been bitten or scratched, he could turn any minute, _Puck_ could turn any minute, and this could be the last moment of his life. It could be the last thing he remembers and if he has to have a last thing, this is the one he wants.

There’s a click as Puck unclips Kurt’s holster, pushing it off Kurt’s arms and then pulling off Kurt’s tank top before his teeth clamp down, hard, on Kurt’s skin. Both of Kurt’s hands tangle in Puck’s hair, but they don’t pull him away, they pull him closer. Puck bites down again and again, and Kurt thinks that if he’s going to be eaten, it _should_ be Puck, and that thought doesn’t even bother him.

Puck runs a finger through the cut on his own arm, then puts it to Kurt’s lips as he bites down hard where Kurt’s shoulder and neck meet. Kurt opens his mouth, licking at and then sucking Puck’s finger until it’s clean, then running his tongue across Puck’s palm to his wrist, his teeth grazing the skin before he bites down. One of Kurt’s hands rakes down Puck’s arm again, smearing blood as it goes. 

That elicits another hiss and Puck’s mouth moves a little higher on Kurt’s neck before he bites at Kurt’s skin again. Kurt grabs the hem of Puck’s shirt and yanks it over his head, scraping his nails down Puck’s chest, over his nipples and down his ribs. Puck presses the length of his body against Kurt’s, trapping Kurt between Puck and the concrete block wall, and he slams his mouth against Kurt’s lips, biting at Kurt’s lower lip. 

Kurt forces his hands between them, pulling at the button on Puck’s jeans and yanking down the zipper before shoving both his hands into the front of Puck’s underwear. He wraps both hands around Puck’s cock, moving them fast as he leans forward to bite Puck’s shoulder, scraping his teeth along Puck’s upper arm until his mouth finds the cut again. Kurt bites and suckles at the cut while he moves his hands up and down on Puck’s cock. 

Puck’s head tilts back as he lets out a low whine and sighs simultaneously. “Ahh, fuck, Stud,” Puck mumbles. “Gonna fuck you against this wall.”

Kurt laps at Puck’s cut one more time before raising his head to kiss Puck again, mouth still bloody. He pulls back and almost growls, “Do it.”

The sound of a seam ripping echoes in the room as Puck somehow manages to get both of them naked within a matter of seconds. Puck swears as he looks around in the dim light, grabbing a bottle of something and squirting a little on his hand experimentally. His face brightens slightly as he rubs his fingers together, and then he flips Kurt towards the wall. Kurt puts his palms flat against the cold concrete of the wall as Puck pushes one finger inside Kurt in one motion. Puck bites at Kurt’s upper arms as he moves the single finger in and out for a few moments, and then he adds a second finger without warning. 

Kurt cries out and tilts his head forward, resting his forehead on the wall. “God, Butterfly,” Kurt breathes. “Fuck me. _Now_.”

There’s a momentary pause in Puck’s motions before they resume, and after three thrusts of Puck’s fingers, he pulls them out completely. There’s a few brief seconds of nothing before Puck has his cock there, thrusting deep inside Kurt in a fast, fluid motion. “Like that, Stud?” Puck asks roughly, his mouth near Kurt’s ear. “Or harder?”

Kurt chokes out “Harder,” moving his hips back to slam his body against Puck’s. “Fuck. Harder.”

Puck complies, his lips still almost brushing Kurt’s neck. “How hard, Stud?” he pants. “Hard as I can?”

“Make it hurt.”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Puck almost groans, and he puts one hand firmly on Kurt’s hip, the other arm wrapping around Kurt’s chest. He bites down on the widest, deepest point of Kurt’s cut, then starts to move again. It hurts, but it _all_ hurts, and it all feels so good, and it’s all too mixed up for Kurt to distinguish between the two anymore, or care that he can’t. He rocks himself back on Puck’s cock, and Puck reaches between Kurt and the wall, his hand too tight around Kurt’s cock, moving furiously. 

Kurt starts making high, repetitive wails with each thrust, and before Kurt realizes it, he’s coming all over Puck’s hand and the wall in front of him with a scream. Puck continues thrusting for another few seconds before he yells, shuddering and coming deep inside Kurt before his body drapes over Kurt’s.

“Told you,” he mutters after a moment, the zombies outside still scratching against the thick metal of the door and nearly drowning out Puck’s words. “Together, Stud.”

“Together,” Kurt repeats. “To the end of the world.”

Puck pulls slightly away from Kurt, easing him off the wall and into Puck’s arms. Puck slowly sinks to the floor, pulling Kurt into his lap and putting his arms around Kurt. Kurt rests his head against Puck’s shoulder, wraps his arms tightly around Puck’s chest, and waits for them both to die.


	12. Chapter 12

Tina knocks once, looking around anxiously, and after thirty seconds pass, she finds the spare key that Kurt told her about, and lets herself into the house. There’s a small pile of things in the hallway, and when she walks past the kitchen, there’s containers sitting in the floor and on the counter. Tina bites her lip before calling out “hello?”

There’s no answer, so Tina looks in the rest of the rooms on the first floor before heading up the stairs. Maybe they’re asleep. Maybe they’re still here. Kurt’s room is missing a few things—his laptop, his satchel, his toothbrush—and Tina deflates. Kurt’s not there. There’s still a chance of finding Finn, though, so she continues to his bedroom. 

Tina stops in the doorway, blinking at the sight in front of her. Finn is naked and covered in blood, huddled in a corner of his bedroom and holding a large kitchen knife. He’s rocking in place, and Tina isn’t sure if he’s become one of the zombies or not, except that no zombie has had a weapon.

“Finn?” Tina say softly, stepping closer to him. “Finn, it’s Tina. I’m—I’m still me. Alive. Human.”

Finn rocks in place a little harder, his hand tightening on the knife, and he starts muttering something to himself, too quiet for Tina to make out at first. She steps closer, her hand clenching on the rifle almost unconsciously. They’re both too jumpy and too armed. Now she can make out some of his words, and he’s just repeating, “No, no, no.”

“Finn,” she repeats. “Finn. It’s okay. You’re alive. We’re both alive. Finn, can you put that knife down so I can see if you’re hurt?”

“Not getting eaten. Not lying down. No. No.” Finn keeps rocking, but he also starts blinking his eyes, like he’s slowly surfacing. “I won’t. I won’t.”

“No, no one’s getting eaten,” Tina agrees, shuddering a little. “And you don’t have to lie down, Finn. Just the knife. You can stand up right now, if you want to.”

Finn turns his head towards Tina, just barely letting his eyes move. “I won’t lie down,” he repeats slowly. 

“Good?” Tina tries. “Why don’t you stand up, Finn? Then it’ll be very clear.”

Finn nods, but doesn’t try to stand. Instead he says, “Tina?”

“It’s me,” Tina responds, nodding. “We’re both still here, Finn.”

“You’re not a monster?”

“No, Finn. I’m just Tina. I’m not a monster, and you aren’t either.”

Finn nods his head again. The hand on the knife loosens and it dangles from his fingers. Tina leans forward slowly and takes the knife from him, then sets it down on Finn’s desk, well away from both of them. 

“Maybe a shower would be nice?” Tina says tentatively. Finn shakes his head, and Tina frowns. The blood isn’t something she wants to look at much longer. “A washcloth?” 

Finn doesn’t respond at first, but then he nods his head. Tina smiles at him and hurries to the bathroom, grabbing the first washcloth she finds and wetting it thoroughly before walking back to Finn, slowly cleaning off Finn’s arms before offering it to him. “Your chest?” she says cautiously. Finn nods faintly but doesn’t otherwise move, so Tina starts to wipe the blood from his chest as well. 

When she starts to pull away, though, he grabs her arm with one hand, gripping her tightly. Tina smiles slightly, looking directly at him. “Just getting you clean, Finn,” she whispers. 

“Tina,” Finn whispers. “Tee.”

Tina nods. “Does it feel better to get clean?” she asks, for lack of something better to say. What do you say, when everyone else is gone?

“They got eaten, Tee. Everybody got eaten,” Finn continues in the same hushed voice. “Everybody’s gone.”

Tina feels her heart sink, because she’s not sure if that means Kurt, too. There wasn’t any other blood in the house, so she’d thought—hoped—he just was...somewhere else. Too many people were already definitely gone with a horrible finality. “I know, Finn. I know.” Tina lets her head drop against Finn’s. “But we’re still here.”

“We’re the only ones here,” Finn says, sounding awed. “We’re the only people in the world.”

“Maybe not the world.” Hopefully not the world, is what she means. “But we are the only ones here. I saw some water downstairs, and I’m thirsty. Will you come show me where the glasses are?” She knows where the glasses are, of course, but maybe that will help Finn, to do something other than ruminate over the awful twists their lives have taken. 

Finn slowly nods his head, still not releasing Tina’s arm. “I’m naked.”

“That’s okay. It’s pretty warm, so I bet that’s more comfortable, anyway.” Tina shrugs. “We can still have some water.”

“Okay. Okay.” Finn starts to stand, still holding Tina’s arm. Tina realizes there’s more blood still on him, but she averts her eyes for a moment. Somehow, it feels strange to care about nudity, even though her conditioned response is still to do so. She takes the washcloth and wipes at his stomach, because the less blood on him, the better she’ll feel. 

She wonders whose blood it is. 

Once Finn is standing, Tina walks out of his bedroom and down the stairs, Finn still clutching at her. He follows her docilely into the kitchen, and Tina stops them in the middle of the floor, trying to decide if Finn should just sit down at the table. The table is mostly covered in containers of water and a few cans of peas. One of the cans rests on a sheet of paper, which Finn keeps running his fingertips over, a hopeful look on his face.

“What is it, Finn?” Tina asks, trying to figure out why there are bowls of water sitting on the counter.

“Kurt,” Finn breathes. “It’s Kurt.”

Tina frowns for a split second before she understands what he must mean. “That’s a note from Kurt?”

Finn picks the sheet of paper up carefully, almost reverently, and holds it up for Tina to see. “It’s his love.”

Tina reads the note slowly and nods. Kurt’s with Puck, of all people, heading to Columbus, of all places. At least it explains who left the water everywhere, she’s pretty sure. “Yes, Finn, it is,” she finally responds. “Kurt must’ve left this water for you to drink, too.”

Finn nods his head as he slowly folds the paper into a small square, which he clutches tightly in his left hand. 

“Why don’t you sit down and drink some of the water,” Tina suggests, picking up a very faded water bottle of some kind. “I have some cereal bars in my car, I’ll bring them in while you do that.”

“No. No, I don’t want to.” Finn’s hand tightens even more around the square of paper, and he actually starts to back away from the water bottle. 

“Okay. I’m still going to go get those cereal bars, though, okay?” Tina shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll be right back. I just need to be—to bring those in here.”

Finn grabs Tina’s arm again. “Don’t drink it. Okay? Don’t drink it.”

“The water? Why?”

“There’s something in it. If you drink it, you’ll sleep,” Finn says. His eyes are wide and scared, but his voice is flat, almost robotic. “You won’t wake up when they eat you. You can’t wake up in time.”

“How did it get there?” Tina’s pretty sure that the water isn’t contaminated beyond the fact that the wastewater treatment system may have shut down now, but maybe if this was some kind of weird biological warfare.

“Hiram. Hiram Berry put it there,” Finn says. “So I’ll stay calm. I was so calm. Everybody was so calm, Tee. They were so calm.” 

Tina draws her breath in sharply. “Finn,” she asks slowly, “were you at Rachel’s house? Did...did the monsters come there?” If Hiram Berry really did drug them, what did Finn see there? Whose blood had Tina wiped from him?

“They came, Tee, and everybody was lying down waiting for them.”

“I’m so sorry, Finn,” Tina whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“I couldn’t make her walk,” Finn says, almost to himself. “I tried to pull her. I tried, but everything was so slow. I was so _tired_. I let them get eaten. I couldn’t wake up enough.”

Tina shudders. “No, Finn, it wasn’t your fault. You tried. You tried, Finn.” She can picture it, actually, picture it too well, Finn succeeding somewhat even drugged thanks to his sheer size, compared to Rachel. She closes her eyes briefly; one house she doesn’t even need to check. 

“I didn’t know it was the drink.” Finn’s voice is pleading. “I didn’t know it was in there. I wouldn’t have drunk it. I didn’t want to lie down.”

“Of course not.” Tina runs hands over her forearms. “I have to—I’ll be right back, Finn, I promise.” She bolts for the front door before he can respond, barely checking for zombies before she bursts out onto the porch and then stands there, taking great gulps of air. She takes longer than necessary to get the cereal bars and the flat of bottled water, still covered in plastic wrap. Maybe Finn will think it’s safe if it’s still sealed; Hiram Berry couldn’t have contaminated everything, even in Finn’s mind, surely.

When she walks back into the house and locks the door behind her, Tina shudders. She pastes a smile on her face, though, and returns to the kitchen. Finn is sitting exactly as she left him.

“See! Didn’t take long!” Her voice sounds artificially bright even to her own ears. “Cereal bars and water that Hiram Berry has never seen before.”

Finn looks at the bottles of water suspiciously and doesn’t hold a hand out to take one. Tina opens the cereal bars first, handing Finn two of them, and then she rips the plastic on the water, pulling out two bottles.

“See? Still sealed.”

Finn still doesn’t make a move towards the water bottle, just picks at the cereal bar without eating it. 

Tina opens one of the bottles and takes a drink. “You should eat that, Finn. Eating and drinking will help get the poison out of your body.”

He watches her closely as she drinks, but doesn’t put the water bottle to his own lips until half of hers is empty. Only then does he start drinking, gulping the whole thing down in three or four swallows. Tina smiles at him and hands him a second one. He drinks that one just as fast, then starts eating his cereal bars quickly, taking large bites and barely chewing before swallowing them.

“Drink as many of the bottles as you want,” Tina says gently. She can drink some of the containers of water, when Finn isn’t watching. Undoubtedly Kurt or Puck left them there, unable to take them along for some reason—she stops that line of thought. Kurt and Puck might not be in Lima anymore, she probably won’t ever see them again, but there’s no reason why she should think anything other than they are alive, somewhere in Kurt’s Navigator. Perhaps with real bottled water. “They’ll get the poison out, remember?”

Finn nods and drinks a third bottle of water, a little more slowly this time. His color looks slightly better and the frantic look in his eyes recedes. “Thanks,” he says, finally. “Thank you, Tee.”

Tina beams at him. “You’re welcome. Do you want anything else to eat?” She picks up one of the cans on the table. “New potatoes. That could be tasty!”

“I like potatoes,” Finn says. “I’m so tired, Tee.”

“We’ll have potatoes, then,” Tina decides, “and I’ll help you wash off a little better, and then we’ll have a nap.” She bites her lip and turns towards the drawers, looking for a can opener, because why did she say that about helping him? He seems to be more with it now, he doesn’t need her help.

But he might want it, and if she’s going to be inside, she doesn’t really want to let him—another living, breathing human, who doesn’t seem on the verge of suicide—out of her sight. 

Finn gives her a small smile. “Thanks, Tee,” he says again. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Tina can feel her cheeks heat a little, and she returns the smile, putting her hand on top of his much-larger one. “Me too, Finn.”

“I won’t let you get eaten. They won’t get us,” Finn says gravely. “I promise. I won’t let the monsters eat you.”

“Thank you,” Tina says softly, and she has to blink back sudden tears. “I’ll keep them from you, too.”

Finn drinks four bottles of water and eats three cereal bars and half of the can of potatoes before Tina leads him back upstairs, a fifth bottle of water in his hand. They walk straight into the bathroom and Tina turns on the water—cold, but it’s warm in the house—before shyly starting to remove her clothes. Then she realizes that Finn’s naked and has been naked, so it’s only fair she should be marginally cooler, and that he should have a chance to look as well. As much as he can look, that is, since it’s relatively dark in the bathroom. 

Tina scrubs him down, removing every last speck of blood, and as much as she thinks she’s shouldn’t, she keeps one eye on his cock. She wonders how fast she could get him hard, and how quickly he would slide inside her. She doesn’t touch it, though, not in the shower. Maybe once they’re in bed. She needs to _feel_ , needs something to make her forget for a few minutes. If he’s inside her, maybe she can forget that she is inside, period.

When their teeth are chattering, Tina shuts off the water and dries herself off before rubbing the towel over Finn’s body. “Should I put my dirty clothes back on?” she can’t help asking, not looking directly at Finn. “But if we’re going to rest...”

“You’re cold,” Finn says, furrowing his brow. “Tee, you’re cold.”

“It’s not too bad,” Tina insists, but she starts walking towards Finn’s room. “Help me be warm?”

Finn nods, and Tina smiles, climbing into his bed and patting the mattress beside her. She shouldn’t be thinking about all the things she’s thinking about, but there’s a lot of should and shouldn’t things that went out the window four days ago, too. Finn lies down next to her, pulling up the covers before pressing the line of his body against hers, putting an arm across her. 

“Are you warmer?” he asks her. 

She nods. “A little bit.” She bites her lip. He can always tell her no, or at least move his hand. She picks up one of his hands and settles it on top of her breast, and the weight of it, combined with the feel of it against her nipple, makes her exhale in relief. She can see out the window, and someone is there with her, someone who will hold the walls away at least a little bit. 

“Tee?” Finn says softly, but he doesn’t move his hand away. 

“You’re keeping the walls away,” she whispers after a moment. “Keeping them from crushing me. And that feels good. For me, anyway. You don’t—if you don’t.” She stops.

“I’ll keep you safe, Tee,” Finn answers. He moves his hand, his thumb brushing her nipple. “I’ll protect you from the monsters and the walls. It’s okay. I’ll keep you safe.”

Tina smiles at him. “I know you will, Finn. I trust you.” She wants to close her eyes, just enjoy the feeling of his hand and fingers on her, but when his thumb brushes over her nipple again, she realizes it’s not going to be _enough_ , so she reaches over, sliding her hand from the top of her leg to his muscled thigh, then moves it up until her fingers close over Finn’s half-hard cock. 

Finn moans softly, his thumb stroking over her nipple again, more firmly this time. Tina’s smile gets a little wider, and she tugs her hand gently up Finn’s cock. She moves her chest forward, pushing her breast tightly against Finn’s hand. Finn brings his other hand to Tina’s other breast, running his thumbs and then his fingertips over both nipples. Finn’s hands are large enough to cover her breasts completely, warm and a little heavy, and Tina slides her hand up and down. 

“Finn?” Tina breathes, almost a plea, putting her other hand on Finn’s shoulder and trying to pull him on top of her. He’s so real, so solid, and she can stand being inside with him there. He lets her pull him, putting one hand against the mattress to prop himself up as he rolls his body on top of hers. Finn looks at her for a long time before he runs one hand from her shoulder, down her breast, and to her hip. 

Tina can’t help the slight shudder that runs down her body behind Finn’s hand. She strokes Finn again, pushing herself up against him and then letting her hand move to Finn’s waist. 

“You’re really here,” she whispers. “You’re here with me.”

Finn rests his forehead against hers and whispers back, “I’m here. I’m here, Tee. I’ll keep you safe.” He shifts his body so he’s between her legs and his eyes meet hers again. “We’re both here.”

Tina nods slowly. “We’ll keep each other safe, Finn.” She moves her legs, hooking one foot around the back of Finn’s leg and then pressing on it with her foot, trying to urge him even closer. He moves forward, and then he’s slowly pushing inside her, breathing hard. Tina exhales, adjusting her position, and clings to Finn’s back. “You’ll keep the walls away from me,” she whimpers.

Finn starts moving inside her, slow at first. He leans his body against hers, his mouth by her ear, and he whispers, “There’s no walls, Tee. There’s no walls.”

Finn’s body is surrounding her, even while he’s inside her, and it’s easy to listen to his words and _believe_ them. There’s no walls because everything she can feel and see is just Finn. She brings her other leg around him, too, then reaches for one of his hands, placing it back on top of her breast. “Please stay real,” she murmurs. “Stay here with me.”

Finn starts to move faster, pushing in harder, and he gently rolls Tina’s nipple in his fingertips. His face registers a little surprise, and Tina tightens her legs around him. Finn’s movements become more erratic and he freezes, panting, his hand cupping the side of her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and finger. 

“Don’t stop,” Tina begs. “Don’t _stop_.”

Finn takes a deep breath and starts moving again. “Okay, Tee. I won’t stop. I’m still here.” 

Tina lets herself relax a little at Finn’s words, tilting her hips up towards Finn and placing both her hands on his back. “You’re here, you’re here,” she whispers, almost sobbing. “No walls and you’re here.” 

Finn thrusts harder, and the fingers on her nipple tighten slightly, almost pinching. “Tee,” he says, his voice strained. 

“Yes. Yes, like that.” Tina leans up, into Finn’s movements. “So close,” she murmurs. 

Finn pinches at Tina’s nipple, moving faster, and he says her name again in a low whine. Tina shudders slightly, still nearly sobbing, and comes. She’s not sure what she says, just registers that noise is coming from her mouth. Finn thrusts into her a few more times, then drops his head onto hers, shaking as he comes almost silently. 

Tina leaves her hands on Finn’s back, but lets her legs drop to the mattress, and she turns her head to the side slightly, just enough to see out the window. “Thank you,” she whispers. “So glad you’re real.”

“Me, too,” Finn murmurs into her hair. “You can sleep. I won’t let them eat you, Tee.” He stretches his body out on top of hers, draping himself over her. “They won’t get you.”

Tina curls into a ball, facing the window, and she closes her eyes. Finn’s there, like a blanket, heavy and real and present, keeping the walls and the monsters away. 

When she wakes up, Tina can still see out the window, and Finn is still there with her, but now it’s dark outside. She fumbles for her watch, lighting it up to see the time. Just after midnight. She shakes her head minutely and slides out from under Finn, placing her hand on his shoulder and shaking him softly. “Finn?” He doesn’t move, so she shakes him a little harder, repeating his name again.

Finn starts screaming before he even opens his eye, his arms reaching out, shoving himself off of Tina. “No! No! No!” 

Tina jumps backward, almost falling off the bed, and she scrambles to her feet. “Finn!” she says loudly. “It’s me! Tina! Finn, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s just me, it’s just Tina.”

“No!” Finn kicks at the blankets, his eyes finally opening wide. 

“We’re okay, we’re still real! Finn, we’re still okay!”

Finn’s head snaps in Tina’s direction. “Tee?” 

Tina nods. “It’s me. Tin—Tee. We’re okay, Finn. You and me, we’re okay.”

“I’m not getting eaten!” Finn says, not quite shouting. “I’m not!”

“No, Finn, you aren’t,” Tina agrees. “We aren’t. We’re safe here.” She steps tentatively back towards Finn, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. “We’re safe here, Finn. Safe.”

“Tee? Tee.” Finn is still breathing heavily, but he stops flailing and screaming. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, Finn.” Tina squeezes Finn’s shoulder softly and sits back down on the bed. “It’s fine. This—Everything’s kind of scary lately, isn’t it?”

“Everything’s wrong, Tee,” Finn whispers. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t know, either,” Tina whispers, lying back down and pressing against Finn. “A week ago we were laughing and starting the new school year and now. Now people are gone or missing.” She stops and presses a hand to her mouth. “They’re gone, Finn. Mike and Artie are gone, I went to their houses. And Brittany’s parents let Lord Tubbington outside. Remember? Brittany and Santana were in California with the rest of the Cheerios. We’ll never see them again, either.”

“We’ll never see anyone again,” Finn says. “We’re the only people left, Tee. There’s nobody else in the world. They all got eaten or they died.” He hangs his head, shaking it slowly. “Rach—the Berrys, they kept watching this same old movie. _Casablanca_. Hiram kept playing it over and over. They were drinking cosmos and laughing and watching that movie, and taking all these pills.”

Tina shakes her head, able to imagine the scene too well. “Like Nero and Rome,” she whispers softly. Then she frowns. “But we need to find out, Finn. I didn’t go to Mercedes’ house, or Quinn’s. They could still be alive. We need to check.”

“Nobody’s alive. Nobody but us.”

“I need to know, Finn. I need to go and see. I have to. And if they are gone, I need...I need something. Something to help me remember.”

“Can we wait for it to be light?” Finn asks. “Please?”

“Of course.” Tina starts to resist the urge to cuddle him, and then decides there’s no reason to resist it. “We should sleep more now, and then we’ll wake up and eat more, and _then_ we’ll go. Okay?”

Finn pulls Tina close, arms around her as he mostly drapes himself over her again. “Okay. We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Tina curls up again, breathing deeply under Finn’s weight. “Tomorrow,” she agrees sleepily. 

When they wake up in the morning, they eat more cereal bars and drink more bottled water before Tina tells Finn to pack himself a bag. As she stands in the room waiting on him, her toes find something in the carpet, and while Finn puts his letterman jacket in the bottom of a bag, she reaches down and picks it up. 

It’s a necklace, a very familiar necklace. A gold star dangles from the chain, exactly like the necklace that Rachel wore, the necklace that Tina knows Finn gave to Rachel. The chain is broken, and there’s dried blood in several spots along the chain and the charm alike. 

Tina closes her fingers around it as Finn turns around, looking for something else to put in his bag, and then when his back is towards her, she looks at the chain again, fighting back tears. She can’t take Finn back to the Berry house, that much is obvious, so she pockets the necklace without a second thought. It will have to be enough to help her remember Rachel Berry. 

Finn zips up his bag and Tina forces herself to smile. “Ready?”

“Guns,” Finn says suddenly. “Puck had guns with him when he came here. We need guns.”

“I have this pistol.” Tina indicates the holster on her belt. “And two hunting rifles. It’s something, right?”

“Burt left a shotgun. I guess... I guess Kurt took it to Columbus.”

Tina nods. If Puck had guns and Kurt had a gun, then she can keep thinking that they’re alive, somewhere. “You can use one of the rifles. Quinn’s house is closest. Should we take your truck or my car?” She stops. “Or maybe we should take both of them?”

Finn frowns and shakes his head slightly. “Whatever you think, Tee.”

“I’ll follow you for now,” Tina decides. “And if we see any empty houses we can get some food there.”

Tina follows close behind Finn as he drives down back roads to reach Quinn’s house. The front door and the windows are all intact. Quinn’s car is still in the driveway. It’s enough to give Tina a small tendril of hope as she climbs out of her car and steps close to Finn. There aren’t any zombies around, and while they saw a few wrecked cars on the drive, Tina thinks that maybe this day will be better than the early part of the week. She knocks sharply on the door and waits. 

Almost two minutes pass, and Finn starts to get antsy, standing on the front stoop, but then Tina hears the sound of the deadbolt turning and then the door being unlocked. The door creaks open a few inches and Quinn’s face appears, squinting at them and looking anxiously up and down the street. 

“Well, get in,” she hisses, opening the door wider. “Fast.”

Tina can’t help the little squeak that escapes her as they hurry inside. “You’re real!” she blurts. 

“I guess I am,” Quinn says. She shrugs and picks up a pack of cigarettes from a table in the hallway, sticking one between her lips and lighting it. The floor is covered in cigarette butts and small circular scorch marks. “Stay away from the windows. We’ve got a couple that keep making the block.”

“We didn’t see any on the way over here,” Tina explains. She breathes deeply, even though the air is stale and clogged with cigarette smoke. “Have you—do you know about anyone else?” 

“Haven’t seen anybody. Haven’t tried.” Quinn runs her hand through her pink hair. It’s lank and greasy, parts of it clipped out of her face haphazardly. “Mom never came back from church on Sunday and I haven’t left.”

“Are you—do you have enough food? Water?” Tina wants to ask so many questions, wants to tell her so many things.

“Water’s still running,” Quinn says, shrugging nonchalantly. “Starting to run a little low on canned soup, but there’s still a lot of boxed stuff in there. Help yourselves.” She gestures back to the kitchen. “Did you bring anything with you?”

“Water. Cereal bars. A few other things.” Tina says. “So much frozen stuff, you know?”

“I ate all that the first few days, but then it went dark. Anything that was going to go bad, I threw it out the upstairs window into the neighbor’s yard,” Quinn says. She gives Tina a thin smile. “We might have more stuff to throw, if you want to give it a try.”

Tina can’t decide whether to return the smile or cry a little at how different they all are, but eventually her lips turn upwards. “I didn’t think of that,” she admits. 

The three of them do walk towards the kitchen, where Tina’s eyes light up at the canned chili and cookies. “An early lunch,” she declares, opening both and serving all of them. Finn eats his chili quietly, his eyes darting between Tina and Quinn, but any time Quinn looks at him directly, he stares down at his food.

“Okay, so what’s wrong him?” Quinn asks finally. 

“He can hear you,” Tina says, but it’s lacking any heat. “Things are bad, Quinn. People being attacked.”

“I know. I’ve seen it out the windows.” When Quinn finishes her chili, she lights another cigarette. “That’s why I’m not out there. I don’t know why _you_ were out there.”

“I left my house to go to Ray’s on Sunday, because my parents weren’t worried,” Tina answers her slowly. “When I came back, the door was open and they were gone. Phones don’t work. I had to know. Had to try to find other people.”

“And you found Finn Hudson and me,” Quinn says wryly. “Congratulations on your excellent luck.”

Tina stabs at her remaining chili ineffectually, the spoon glancing off the side of the bowl. “And a couple of guns and bottled water.” She sighs. “Mike and Artie are gone.” She leaves out her encounter with Brittany’s parents, because the more time passes, the more odd it seems to her. “Then I went to Finn and Kurt’s.”

“No Kurt?” Quinn asks. “I would have expected...” She trails off as she looks at Finn, who is staring at her.

“He left his love,” Finn says slowly. “He and Puck went to Columbus. We’re the only people left now.”

“Oh-kay,” Quinn responds, raising her eyebrows as she stretches out the syllables. “Seriously. What’s wrong with him?”

“Kurt left a _note_ ,” Tina explains, because somehow that seems important. “He...” Tina puts her hand over Finn’s and squeezes. “Finn was at the Berry house before he went back to his house.”

Quinn lets one eyebrow drop and takes another drag of her cigarette. “So? Was Rachel in a dramatic panic?”

“She was very calm,” Finn answers. “They were all very calm.”

“Hiram drugged them,” Tina says succinctly. “They were apparently all quite unnaturally calm.”

“It was that stuff that they both take. Took. The xan-stuff,” Finn says flatly. 

Tina nods and squeezes Finn’s hand again. “So. We were going to check on you and then Mercedes,” Tina explains. “And possibly get more food or water.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you want,” Quinn says. “If you find Mercedes, you can bring her back here.”

“You should come with us,” Tina responds, voice firm. “It’s not good to be inside all of the time, either.”

“Seems safer to me.” Quinn frowns. “Look, I’ll go with you to check Mercedes’ house, but only if we come right back here after. I don’t think it’s safe out there, but nobody’s even gotten near my door but you.”

“If you’re inside, you can get trapped,” Tina whispers softly, shuddering a little, and she’s not sure that either Quinn or Finn can even make out her words. She nods and speaks more loudly. “So far the day has gone well.”

Finn puts one hand out like he’s going to pat her on the arm, but it never quite comes to rest. It just hovers there, a half inch above her skin. “We found a person, Tee. That means there’s more people out there, right?”

Tina smiles at him. “Right. We’re not the only people.”

When they leave Quinn’s house, Quinn and Tina climb into Finn’s truck and head towards Mercedes’ house. Mercedes’ car is there, but their family car isn’t, and even before Tina finds the spare key and unlocks the door, she has the sinking feeling that the Joneses aren’t there and haven’t been since before everything started. 

Tina stands in the middle of Mercedes’ room; she spent the night there on Friday, nearly a week ago now. It still smells like Mercedes, but it’s starting to smell closed-up, too, and when she sees that Mercedes’ purse is gone, that’s all the confirmation she needs. She goes to Mercedes’ dresser and starts looking through her jewelry, smiling sadly. 

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks. 

“Remembering,” Tina says softly. “I took one of Mike’s hats and a favorite dance mix CD. Artie’s sweater vest. I—I have to remember them.” She picks up a large pair of earrings and smiles. “I remember when she wore these the first time.”

“That’s... weird,” Quinn mutters. “Wait, is that... that’s Brittany’s belt, isn’t it?”

Tina jerks her head in an approximation of a nod. “Her parents were there. I was just going to let Lord Tubbington out, so he’d have a chance.” She slides the earrings into her pocket and takes a final look around Mercedes’ bedroom. “Time to go.” She leaves the bedroom without another glance, hearing Quinn behind her, and they clear the Jones’ kitchen of canned and boxed food quickly, putting it in the back of Finn’s truck before climbing in the front again. 

As they head down North Cable, Tina frowns to herself. There wasn’t any more water at Mercedes’. 

“We need more water at some point,” she says softly. 

“The water’s still running,” Quinn points out. “We can keep drinking that.”

“Amoebas,” Finn says. “When the power’s off, the water can have amoebas. I’m not sure what those are, but that’s what—but they could be there.”

“And why else would Puck and Kurt have filled all those containers before they left?” Tina points out. “They must have thought it would be good to have for some reason.”

“We can stop at the Walgreens on the way back to my house,” Quinn concedes. “But just there. Go in, get water, and then go home.”

“That’s a good idea! We haven’t seen but a couple of the zombies today, either.” Tina smiles a little. “Finn, pull up near the front door?”

After they stop, Tina hands Finn the baseball bat and gestures at the front doors of the Walgreens. Finn grins as he takes the bat, and he steps up to the door in batter’s position, swinging hard at the glass. It shatters in a loud crash, and Finn ducks his head to avoid the flying particles, then turns to give Tina a thumbs up. Tina giggles a little.

“Guess I should have tried out for the baseball team, huh?” Finn asks, using the handle of the bat to knock some loose glass from the door to widen the hole. “It’s sharp, so be careful.”

Tina keeps grinning and hands him his rifle. “I will be.” She ducks carefully through and turns back to look at them from just inside the building. Finn hands Quinn the baseball bat. 

“I’ll watch the car,” Quinn says. “Just get the water so we can go.”

Tina walks purposefully towards the aisle with the bottled water, and frowns a little when she reaches it. There’s still some there, but it’s obvious people had time on Sunday to buy some of the stock. It’s better than no water, though, of course, and she lifts a flat, heading back towards the entrance. Finn grabs two and follows her, and they have no trouble loading them in the truck and heading back inside. She grabs another flat, Finn grabs two more, and Tina heads back inside. One more load should do it. 

Tina’s already walking back out of the aisle when Finn turns down it, and she sees them at the same time Quinn screams. There are at least three of them that she can see immediately, and Tina drops the water, drawing the pistol and trying to shoot them. 

Her first shot goes wild, and the second hits the shoulder of the farthest zombie, and Quinn is still screaming as Tina ducks through the broken door. She can hear Finn throwing down the last flat of water and running after her, shouting. Quinn is surrounded by four or five zombies, and Finn fires the rifle in the direction of one of the zombies, clipping it. 

Tina fires again and again, trying not to hit Quinn, and one zombie does fall over, stopping its attack on Quinn. The gap means, though, that Tina can see now that the zombies have started eating Quinn, even while she’s still screaming. Tina keeps shooting, then grabs Finn’s wrist.

“We have to go now, Finn!”

“But Quinn—”

“They have her,” Tina chokes out, heading towards the truck and trying to drag Finn with her. “We have to go!”

“I won’t let you get eaten, Tee!” Finn shouts, firing his gun into the crowd of zombies. “I am not going to get eaten!”

Quinn is still screaming, her legs beating against the parking lot, as Tina successfully shoves Finn into the truck. They slam their doors and Finn hits the gas pedal all the way down, almost spinning out as he whips out of the parking lot and onto the street. 

It isn’t until Tina reaches up to wipe the water off her face that she realizes she’s crying. “That was awful,” she says brokenly. “I don’t want that to happen to me.”

“It won’t,” Finn says, his voice still too loud. “Nobody is eating us. I won’t get eaten. I won’t just lie there and get eaten, Tee.”

Tina shudders. “No. Me either, Finn. I don’t want to die like that.”

“I won’t let you,” Finn says. 

“How can we be sure?” Tina wipes her eyes again. “What if we make a mistake?”

“We have guns,” Finn says simply. “I’ll shoot myself before I turn into one of them. I’ll do that before I get eaten like...” 

“Like animals,” Tina finishes. “You—you’ll make sure? For me, too?”

“I’ll make sure,” Finn promises. “I’ll make sure you don’t get eaten, Tee.”

“Thank you.” Tina bites her lip and looks out the window, trying to compose herself. “We should go get my car. Some of the food there. And find a place for the night.” She doesn’t want to be inside, but they can’t drive around Lima continuously.

“Maybe houses aren’t a good idea. Maybe we need something smaller.”

“No!” It bursts out of her before she can stop to think. “Houses are already too small.”

Finn doesn’t look over at her and he doesn’t argue. He just nods his head, and they drive in silence back to Quinn’s house. When they get there, they take the remaining food, and Tina pockets Quinn’s spare lighter before they lock the door behind them, and Tina climbs into her own car. They don’t drive far before Tina picks a likely-looking house, backing into the driveway. 

She gets out of her car and stands in the sun for a long minute. “Do we have to go inside yet?” she whispers.

“We need to go in before the mon—the _zombies_. Before they come,” Finn says, gently. “A few more minutes. When we get in, I’ll open up the windows for you.”

“Thank you.” Tina takes several deep breaths, closing her eyes in the sunshine, then exhales and opens them. “Okay, let’s go.”

Finn tries the door, but it’s locked. “Should we look for a key?”

“Kick the door in,” Tina suggests. Finn nods and gives the door a hard kick near the knob, followed by a second one. The wood around the door knob splinters and the door swings open. Tina draws her pistol and walks in, looking around cautiously. The driveway had been empty, so she’s fairly confident that no one is there, and a quick look around the house confirms it. “Let’s bring a few things in,” she decides, putting the pistol back in the holster.

They bring in a pallet of water and a change of clothes, plus her box of memorabilia and a little bit of food, and the first thing Finn does after that is go to the bedroom and open up the window. Tina smiles at Finn and sits next to the window, while Finn rifles through the pantry in the kitchen. He returns with a plate of crackers and peanut butter, a Jell-O cup, and several bags of fruit snacks, all opened and piled on the plate. 

“Here, Tee. You should eat,” Finn says. He gives her a bottle of water, too, then goes back into the kitchen to retrieve an identically-prepared plate. The fruit snacks are shaped like dinosaurs and Finn holds up a red triceratops in front of Tina, making it roar. 

Tina giggles. “Thanks for dinner, Finn.” She picks up a purple T-rex and moves it towards the triceratops. “My T-rex can defeat your triceratops, though.”

“Not gonna happen,” Finn says. “Because my triceratops—oh hey, look at that!” Finn points out the window, and when Tina looks, he snatches the T-rex from her fingers and bites off its head, then replaces it. “Sorry, Tee’s T-rex.”

“Finn!” Tina keeps giggling, then leans forward and grabs the triceratops, popping it into her mouth. “Dinosaur wars!”

“It’s so dramatic.” Finn sorts his remaining dinosaur fruit snacks by color, then apparently changes his mind and resorts them by species. 

“It is!” Tina pops a few more of the dinosaurs into her mouth. “I’ve never had warm Jell-O before,” she confesses, peeling off the top of her Jell-O cup. 

“Put some dinosaurs in it. Pretend it’s a volcano or something.”

“Is it wiping the dinosaurs out, like a meteor?” Tina takes a big spoonful of Jell-O and sprinkles three dinosaurs on it. “Fossilize!”

“Epic fossilization,” Finn agrees. 

When the food is gone, Tina takes the plates back into the kitchen, though she doesn’t worry about washing anything, and as soon as she’s back in the bedroom, she starts to undress. “Let’s go to bed while it’s still light out,” she says, staring out the window. Finn nods and starts taking off his clothes as well. Tina pulls the covers back and slides into the bed, waiting for Finn to join her. 

The next morning, they decide to drive towards Harding Highway and see what it’s like. Before they go, though, they empty Tina’s car. It’s nearly out of gas, despite her filling it just before everything started, and all of the contents of her car fit in the back of Finn’s truck before they set off. 

They don’t make it very far before Tina spots a group of zombies a bit down a side road. “Slow down!” she says, rolling her window down and grabbing the rifle. Finn slows the truck, and Tina points the rifle out the window, firing until all five of them are lying on the pavement. “Yes!” she whoops. “Let’s go find more!” For the first time since Sunday, Tina feels like she’s accomplished something. 

“Okay. We’ll do that until lunch,” Finn says, turning down another street. 

“Awesome!” Tina grins. They spend the morning killing zombies, and after a lunch of another can of potatoes and ketchup packets swiped from a McDonald’s, Tina finds a piece of chalk and starts marking down how many zombies she’s killed right on the dashboard of the truck. 

When they swing close to Finn’s house, he looks over at Tina. “Could we maybe check the house again? Just in case?”

Tina nods. “Okay. I need a good place to reload, anyway.”

Finn pulls up to the house and opens the garage, then drives in and closes it behind them. Tina climbs out of the truck and draws her pistol. 

“I’ll check it out while you bring in a snack,” she offers, as soon as Finn unlocks the door into the main part of the house. Tina quickly determines that no one is on the first floor, though something feels different. The house seems less stuffy, somehow. She climbs the stairs cautiously, and when she reaches Finn’s room, her eyes widen. His bloody clothes—she must’ve missed them before, but he doesn’t need to see them, and she stuffs them in the back of his closet before continuing to the rest of the bedrooms. 

The last bedroom she checks is Kurt’s, and her eyes widen as she stands in the doorway. Finn’s footsteps echo up the stairs and down the hall as he comes up behind her. 

“Tee, what are you—”

“I know,” Tina says softly. “Someone’s been here.”

“Those are Kurt’s clothes, Tee.” Finn walks into Kurt’s bedroom and picks up the pieces of fabric. “Somebody’s—why would they do that, Tee?”

Tina shakes her head. “I don’t know. There’s no blood. It’s like. They cut them for the sake of cutting them, Finn. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“People... monsters make people do crazy stuff, Tee. I think maybe we should go, though,” Finn says. “Just in case they come back.”

“Yes.” Tina nods her head almost frantically. “Is there anything else we need here?”

“I don’t think so,” Finn sighs. “There’s just not anything here anymore for us.” He slips his hand into his pocket, where Tina knows he keeps the note from Kurt. 

After they leave the house, they head towards Elida Road, still killing zombies out the window as they drive. 

“Tee?” Finn says suddenly, sounding extremely excited about something.

“More of them?” Tina perks up. “Where?”

“No, Tee! Doughnuts!” Finn points at the Pat’s, a huge grin on his face. “Let’s see if anything’s still good!”

“Oh, okay.” She deflates slightly but still smiles. “Pull around the back so we can keep the doughnuts to ourselves!”

Finn parks behind the Pat’s and he tries to kick in the back door, but the only result of that is him hopping around on one foot swearing. Instead, they carefully walk around to the front, where Finn gives _that_ door a hard kick, sending it flying open. The Pat’s is empty, the windows papered on the inside, and the display case is full of stale doughnuts. 

“Sweet! Dinner!” Finn announces. 

“Very sweet,” Tina giggles. “What’s your favorite kind, Finn?”

“Every kind,” Finn says. “But look for the ones with the apple stuff in them. Those are pretty good even when they’re old.”

Tina nods and pulls out as many doughnuts as she can find that aren’t hard as rocks or starting to mold, and that is more than enough for dinner before they use their bags as pillows for the night. After they’re both undressed, Tina crawls on top of Finn. “You’ll be a nice soft mattress for me, right? So I don’t hurt my head while I sleep?”

“I’ll protect you from floors and walls and zombies,” Finn says, sliding his hands down her back and around her waist. 

“I know you will.” Tina shifts her weight and sits up slightly. “Today was a good day.” She grins. “Wasn’t it?”

“Best day I can remember,” Finn answers. 

When Tina wakes up the next morning, she’s curled in a ball on the hard floor, and Finn is draped over her, like they have been sleeping, despite going to sleep differently. She slides out from under him and puts her lips to his ear. 

“It’s Tee, Finn. It’s Tee and we’re both okay. We’re alive and we’re fine. Finn, you’re alive and it’s time to wake up for a new day now. There’s still some of the apple fritters left for breakfast, Finn.”

Finn twitches a few times before his eyes open. He looks around the room frantically for a few seconds, but then takes a deep breath and says, “Hi, Tee.”

Tina smiles softly. “Hi, Finn. Ready for breakfast?”

“More doughnuts?”

“Yes!” Tina says more brightly. “Lots of doughnuts.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Finn asks as he sits up and stretches. “Anything exciting? Maybe we could go bowling or skating or something.”

“We should stay here until the doughnuts are gone,” Tina says, frowning a little at the thought of it. “But we could go kill more zombies! It’s like an arcade game, right?”

“High score!” Finn says, holding his hand for a high five. Tina giggles and returns the high five before standing up. “Oh. I’m naked in the Pat’s,” Finn mutters to himself. “I think maybe that’s weird.”

“Maybe so,” Tina agrees. “We can get dressed after breakfast.”

They do get dressed after breakfast, and Tina finds a deck of cards in a back room, so they sit and play War for a little while until she freezes, staring at Finn wide-eyed. “Finn?” she whispers. “Did you hear that?”

“Shit. That’s the back door,” Finn says quietly. “Somebody’s trying to open the back door.”

Tina grabs her pistol out of its holster and stands. “Get the rifle,” she hisses, listening to the sound of booted footsteps coming around the building. The footsteps stop and there’s a banging on one of the doors.

“Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Finn hisses, grabbing the rifle. Tina tries to force herself to stay calm, even though they’re trapped in a building, and someone else wants in there with them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #16: Blood is trust.**

No, Puck doesn't know for sure how a breathing human ends up a Zombie, but he's pretty sure it's got something—a lot—to do with blood. Blood's always been a funny thing: blood brothers, donating blood, not touching another person's blood. Now, though, it's the ultimate currency of trust, and there's not really any other way to put it. 

The cuts on their arms are going to scar; there's no way around that, not with how deep they are and where they're positioned, not to mention the fingers and tongues prodding in them. It will take a few weeks for them to finally heal and the scar tissue to form, but by the time his sister would have been carving her Halloween pumpkin, he and Kurt are going to have near-identical scars stretching down their arms.

They shared blood; there are no gestures or words that can top that.

Somehow they sleep, and somehow they wake up still alive and hungry for plants, not humans. It’s quiet now, no more scratching at the door, and in the dim light of the Maglite, Kurt sees that they’re in a single-stall bathroom, probably the employees’ bathroom. 

“Butterfly? Are you awake?” Kurt whispers. 

There’s a moment of silence before Puck responds. “Maybe.”

“We’re not zombies.”

“Hmm. Nope.” Puck shrugs a little. “That’s a pretty damn good deal, then.”

“Score one more for the Assholes,” Kurt agrees. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“Well.” Puck sighs. “Guess we’ll take a look around with the Mag in a minute. Those oranges and apples should be in here somewhere, too.”

Kurt giggles. “So you managed to save me from zombies, fire a gun, and lock us in this bathroom, all while hanging on to your fruit? I bow to your superior masculine skills.”

“Don’t get too impressed, Stud. They’re probably bruised, since I threw them on the floor.”

“No, I’m so incredibly impressed that I won’t even send you back out to get more,” Kurt assures him. “Besides, the oranges are probably in better shape than I am.”

“But you look better, so at least it’s Stud one, oranges zero, there.” Puck grins, his teeth shining a little in the mostly dark bathroom.

Kurt nuzzles the side of Puck’s neck and his ear, and says, “But you probably _taste_ better than they do, so it’s actually Assholes two, oranges zero.”

Puck laughs. “We’re winners.” He runs a hand through Kurt’s hair and presses his lips to Kurt’s forehead. “Definitely winners,” he adds in a murmur.

“Yes, we are,” Kurt agrees. “Hungry winners. Hungry, naked winners.”

“Speak for yourself,” Puck grumbles, moving one leg, which still has his jeans and underwear around the ankle. “Almost naked.”

“Hungry, almost naked winners on the floor of a Wal-Mart bathroom floor.” Kurt giggles again. “And to think, a week ago I would have considered this my personal _low_.”

Puck laughs along with him. “I personally would have at least eaten before I ended up on the bathroom floor,” he says with a shrug, then slowly helps them both stand up. “Grab the Mag, would you? Let’s check out our new accommodations.”

Kurt reaches for the Maglite, and his hand bumps something that falls into the sink with a clatter. When Kurt shines the light in the sink, he sees Puck’s knife, blood drying on the open blade, and a bottle of Jergen’s lotion. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Jergen’s lotion. Yes, this definitely would have been a personal low under different circumstances,” Kurt says, but he’s laughing again. “It’s not even the Natural Glow.”

“Is that what that was?” Puck answers, also laughing. “I was afraid we’d have to use soap, and that would’ve sucked.”

“Luck was obviously on our side,” Kurt says, wryly, handing Puck the light. 

“Something had to be,” Puck agrees. He shines the light around on the floor and then leans to the side, lifting the bag of apples triumphantly before leaning over again, this time holding the oranges. “This evening’s meal will consist of fruit, fruit, and a bit more fruit.” He snorts. “We’ll eat some Spam in the morning or something.” He slides the bags towards Kurt and turns the light to the walls and ceiling. “Well, if we can’t go out the way we came in, it looks like we have two options.”

Kurt makes a questioning noise while he bites into an apple. “Hmm?”

“Not really,” Puck admits. “Pipes won’t work. There’s a decent-sized air vent, though.”

“See?” Kurt says through a mouthful of apple. “Luck. On our side.”

“It goes...well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” Puck says. “Toss me an orange?” 

Kurt places an orange in Puck’s hand. “This is going to be a long night.”

It is a long night, but considering they’re locked in an employee bathroom in a Wal-Mart, it’s not as bad as it could be, and Kurt’s absurdly happy that he and Puck are still alive and together. The night is a melange of talking, napping, kissing, and eating more fruit, and at 6:30 the next morning, Puck boosts Kurt up the air vent and then climbs up behind him. 

They crawl a short way down the vent before seeing light above them. Puck knocks the vent cover up and off, and they emerge on the Wal-Mart roof, which is not only—thankfully—zombie free, but also provides them an excellent view of the parking lot and a glimpse of the streets around the Wal-Mart. They find the ladder down into the empty lot, and both of them breathe a sigh of relief to find the Nav untouched and all their supplies intact, Puck’s gas cans included.

“Home again, home again,” Kurt says, buckling his seatbelt.

“Time for more food. Restaurant, garden, or both?” Puck asks. 

“Whatever we find first,” Kurt answers. “This time, no stopping to tie shoelaces. Double-knot or death.”

“Maybe we should find some Velcro,” Puck jokes. 

“Slip on shoes. Maybe we’ll get you those cute little clip-on things you can put over children’s shoelaces to keep them from coming untied,” Kurt says, smiling. “I’ll find you a pretty pair with butterflies.”

“No bell, please,” Puck requests. “Makes it hard to sneak up on the Zombies. Or other Assholes.”

“No bells, check.” Kurt pulls out of the Wal-Mart parking lot and turns left on Allentown. He’s only fifty yards down the road when he sees the intersection of Allentown and North Cable is full of zombies. “Shit. Guess this is why it got so quiet,” he grumbles, hanging a U-turn in the middle of the street. 

“It’s like they’re having a convention,” Puck sighs, looking in his mirror. “Guess we’re going up to Elida for restaurants, then.”

“Guess so. But hey, if we go up Eastown and then back down Elida, we can try the Golden Corral,” Kurt suggests. “You know everything they serve comes from a can.”

Puck grins. “If we’re lucky, they got a shipment last Saturday.”

“Butterfly, what did I tell you?” Kurt asks, grinning at Puck. “Luck is on our side.”

“Certainly wasn’t on the oranges’ side,” Puck agrees. 

The streets are clear of zombies or other Assholes, though Kurt feels a frisson of fear as they approach the mall, remembering the swarm from before. The mall parking lot is empty, however, and the doors leading into the building are broken and blood-spattered. The Golden Corral appears pristine by comparison, and Kurt backs the Nav up to the kitchen entrance. 

They clear the building, which is empty of anyone else, living or non-living, and then hit the storeroom. Their luck holds, and they find the shelves still well-stocked, and load the Nav with industrial-sized cans of soup and sweet potatoes, along with twenty tins of clams, several boxes of potato flakes, and the gold medal winner of the day, six non-perishable boxes of milk and two canisters of milk powder.

“Luck!” Kurt says, holding the milk aloft. “Our side!”

“Cookies?” Puck asks hopefully. “Oreos?”

“Sadly, no,” Kurt says, then he giggles. “You know, we’re only a mile or so from Pat’s. I bet they have something. Might be stale, but,” he adds, shaking a box of milk, “we have something to dip it in.”

“Let’s do it,” Puck says enthusiastically. “This is my watermelon.”

“Then I am finding you some fucking cookies,” Kurt promises. “Now it’s a personal goal.”

Puck grins and grabs Kurt’s wrist to pull him close, bringing their lips together. “In that case, we should get going, Stud.”

Kurt lightly traces one fingertip down the cut on Puck’s arm before stepping away. “We should.”

They load the rest of their haul and get back into the Nav, where Puck props his rifle up on his knee, holding it with one hand and resting the other on Kurt’s leg. Kurt smiles and Puck smiles back, and they pull out of the parking lot grinning at each other like idiots. 

The road between Golden Corral and Pat’s is littered with car wreckage, but the five lanes across allow enough maneuverability that they don’t have to stop and move anything, so it only takes them five or six minutes to traverse the mile. They pull into the Pat’s lot from the north end and start to circle the building, when Kurt and Puck both shout “Shit!” at the same time.

“That’s Finn’s truck!” Kurt squeals. “Finn!”

“No fucking way,” Puck continues, shaking his head and grinning. “What’re the odds?”

“Is he here? Oh, shit, do you think he’s really here?” Kurt reaches across the console and grabs Puck’s hand. Puck squeezes back, and Kurt pulls the Nav parallel to the truck. 

“He’s at least got some supplies,” Puck notes. “Let’s go find out.” When they climb out of the Nav, Puck walks over to the rear door and examines it, then shakes his head. “Yeah, I can’t pick this, not easily. Time to go make our grand entrance.” He stops. “Or is it grand re-entrance?”

“Whatever you want to call it, let’s make it,” Kurt says. They walk around to the front of the building and Puck knocks on one of the front doors. 

“Little pig, little pig, let me in!” Puck calls out. 

“Back the fuck away and nobody gets shot!” a voice from inside shouts. The voice sounds exactly like Finn Hudson, and Kurt exhales loudly.

“You don’t know how to aim and you left your shotgun behind!” Puck yells back. 

There’s a long moment of silence before a hand rips away part of the paper covering the inside of the window, and Finn’s face appears in the space. “Puck?”

“Nope, it’s the Dalai Lama,” Puck says, rolling his eyes. “You gonna let us in before the Zombies come a’visiting?”

After another long pause, a loud scraping noise comes from inside, followed by a thunk, then the door opens to reveal Tina Cohen-Chang drawing down on them with a pistol, Finn standing behind her holding a rifle, looking worried. 

Kurt puts up his hands and says, “Tina?”

“How do we know you aren’t going to turn?” Tina demands, stepping forward slightly. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” Puck retorts. “We aren’t Eaten.”

“Kurt’s been bitten,” Finn says, looking utterly heartsick, and Puck starts laughing.

“Yes,” Kurt says slowly, trying to keep himself from smiling. “By _Puck_. Not by a zombie.”

“By Puck?” Now Finn just looks confused. “Why would—ah. Yeah. I gotcha.” He gives Puck a lopsided grin. “No biting, no eating people,” Finn says, putting a protective hand on Tina’s shoulder, his smile faltering momentarily. Kurt and Puck exchange a glance, and then follow Finn and Tina into the Pat’s, where Finn locks the door again and tips a table back up on its side, sliding it in front of the door. 

“So,” Kurt begins nonchalantly. “Do you have any cookies in here?”

“We’ve got some stale brownies,” Finn says, grinning widely. 

“Will that do it for you, Butterfly? Or do we have to knock over the Ray’s for some Chips Ahoy?” Kurt asks Puck.

“You can’t really dunk a brownie in milk,” Puck says almost thoughtfully. “Dunno, Stud. Ray’s might have more oranges, at least.”

“Oh well,” Kurt says. “Guess the luck couldn’t hold forever.” With that, he flings himself at Finn, grabbing him around the waist in a tight hug. “I can’t believe we finally found you!”

“I looked for you,” Finn answers, hugging Kurt back. “I came home, but you guys were gone.”

“I left a note.”

“I got your note,” Finn says, and he loosens his hold on Kurt enough to reach into his pocket and pull up a folded square of paper. “See?”

Kurt turns in Finn’s arms. “Tina!”

“Kurt!” Tina says, and then she actually smiles for the first time since they arrived. She grabs Kurt in a hug before stepping back and finally putting her gun in the holster on her bright turquoise belt. “Where have you guys been?”

“To Toledo and back again,” Kurt says. Finn starts waving one arm wildly at Puck. “Hey, Butterfly? Come hug my brother before he explodes.”

“That would be bad after we went to so much trouble to find him,” Puck agrees with a grin, throwing an arm around Finn. “I’d say we’ve been looking for three days, but we spent the better part of twenty-four hours in a Wal-Mart bathroom, so.”

“You two are disgusting,” Finn announces after he releases Puck, and the worried look returns to his face. “Whose blood is this?”

Kurt and Puck exchange another look. “It’s not from a zombie,” Kurt finally says.

“It’s from Assholes,” Puck nods. 

Finn wrinkles up his face and says, “Ew,” and then, “Ow, Kurt! Your arm looks awful.”

“So does Puck’s,” Tina declares. “Looks like you need to clean it out good, it’s all... chewed on?”

Finn frowns. “Kurt—”

“Still Puck,” Kurt says primly, his face flushing slightly. 

“Which makes this your handiwork?” Tina asks, gesturing to Puck’s arm and looking at Kurt.

“Uh.” Kurt looks at Puck, who grins back at him. “Well, I’m not the one who cut him.”

“Okay.” Tina tilts her head and then shrugs. “But you swear none of this is zombie-inflicted? On either of you?”

“I swear,” Kurt says. “Believe me, I’m absolutely sure.”

“Not the kind of thing you forget.” Puck looks straight at Kurt and smirks. “We’re both 100% Asshole.” 

“He’s actually 105%,” Kurt adds. “He keeps the extra 5% in the Nav for when we need it.”

“It’s in the gas cans,” Puck agrees. 

When Kurt looks over at Finn, he’s staring at the two of them with a strange look on his face. “What is it, Finn?” Kurt asks.

Finn shakes his head slightly and says, “So... so what do we do next?”

“Immediately?” Puck responds. “Find a good place for tonight. Couldn’t hurt to hit a few gardens up for some fresh food.”

“Where have you been sleeping? Other than Wal-Mart bathrooms?” Finn asks. 

“We spent the two previous nights at the house,” Kurt says. 

“Shit, seriously?” Finn shakes his head. “We were there yesterday. While you were at the Wal-Mart, I guess. We knew somebody had been there, ‘cause we found—uh.” He looks from Kurt to Puck. “Some stuff. Cut up. Other than you guys.”

“We’re giving them a great impression, Stud,” Puck says with a grin. “Maybe we need to show them our extensive weaponry so they’ll know we’ve actually done other things.”

Kurt giggles and traces a finger down Puck’s upper arm, almost without thinking about it. Tina gives him a strange look, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. Instead, Kurt turns to Finn and asks, “Do you have a handgun?”

“Nope. Just the rifle, plus the other rifle and Tee’s gun.”

“Then I have a present for you!” Kurt singsongs. “To the Nav, Butterfly!”

“They got weird,” Kurt hears Finn whisper to Tina. “Weirder than us.”

Puck looks at Kurt and smirks as they walk back around the building to the Nav, and Puck pushes Kurt up against the side of the Nav to kiss him. “We’ll figure out what’s next tonight,” Puck murmurs in Kurt’s ear, then pulls away, trailing one hand down Kurt’s cut as he does so. Finn clears his throat and Kurt rolls his eyes before unlocking the Nav.

Puck opens the back door and gestures expansively at the pile of guns and ammunition. “See? Extensive weaponry!”

Tina’s eyes light up. “That’s a lot of dead zombies!”

“Oh, it _has_ been, thus far anyway,” Kurt agrees. “Hang on.” He reaches under the driver’s seat and comes up with the pink gun. He hands it to Finn with a huge smile. “Here you go, Missy.”

Finn turns the gun over in his hand, looking at the engraved name, then he grins. “Hey, it’s a nice gun! Thanks!”

“Thought of you when I saw it,” Kurt says. “Figured it would be hard to misplace. Plus, such a fashionable color.”

“What do you think, Tee? Goes with my eyes?” Finn asks Tina, holding the gun up near his face. 

Tina giggles. “You need a matching holster. Or a complimentary one, maybe in purple or red.”

“Silver,” Kurt suggests. “Maybe embossed with something. We’ll see what we can do for you, Finn.”

“Oh, don’t forget the bandanas,” Puck says, leaning against the Nav. “I took the most stylish one, but surely they can find something adequate.”

“Bandanas are _the_ fashion accessory of the apocalyptic elite,” Kurt says. He rifles around in the front, then comes up with a handful of bandanas, tossing them to Tina. “Take your pick.”

“Here you go!” she announces quickly, tossing a pink one at Finn. “But I just can’t decide between the American flag and camo.”

“Hmm. Well, are you hiding or guns a’blazing? Take both and switch out according to mood,” Kurt says. 

“The flags, for sure,” Finn says. “I’ve seen her in action. Trust me, Tee. Flags.”

Tina ties the flag-print bandana on, and looks at the Nav curiously. “How’d you get all these supplies? How’d you know _what_ to get?”

“Costco,” Puck says, smiling beatifically. 

“Butterfly’s smarter than the average Asshole,” Kurt adds, and Finn nods. 

“But we should find a place for tonight,” Puck frowns. “A small store without big windows, maybe, or an empty house. One of the older ones, with the really high, small windows.”

“Some of the old shotgun houses near Robb?” Tina suggests. “They don’t have many windows. And only two doors.”

Puck nods slowly. “Yeah, and a lot of the people up that way have little gardens. Get us some tomatoes. Build a fire a block or two over like we talked about,” he adds, nodding at Kurt.

“Mmm. _Cooked_ ,” Kurt says. 

“Maybe even cook the Spam,” Puck grins, then turns to Finn and Tina. “You two follow us? Elida was pretty clear as far as cars, a couple of days ago.”

Finn looks at Tina, who nods, before he answers. “Yeah, let us get the rest of our stuff from inside.” 

“Right.” Puck grabs an extra rifle and hands it to Kurt. “We’ll cover you.”

Finn and Tina go back into the Pat’s, and it takes them two trips to bring all their gear and supplies out to Finn’s truck, where they stow most of it under the tarp on the back. Finn double checks the ties on the tarp, then he looks at Puck expectantly. 

“That’s all of it,” Finn says. 

“Okay, let’s get going,” Puck nods, walking around to the passenger side of the Nav. “Stay within shouting distance.”

“You got it,” Finn says, then snickers and adds, “Butterfly.”

Kurt levels a cold glare at Finn and says, “Tina? Smack my brother for me, please.” Tina smacks the back of Finn’s head, as best she can reach, shooting her own glare at Finn, and Puck just purses his lips and frowns. “Don’t do that again,” Kurt warns him. 

“Ow. Sorry,” Finn whines, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Are we heading straight for Robb, or do we want to go a street or two over?” Tina asks, standing with the door of Finn’s truck open. 

“Two blocks south,” Puck says after a pause, and then he climbs in and shuts the door, rifle   
poking through the slight crack where the window is rolled down. Kurt starts the Nav and, checking to make sure Finn’s truck is right behind them, turns left out of the Pat’s parking lot. 

“So, Finn and Tina,” Kurt says, as he pulls into the left lane to weave around the burned-out husk of a minivan just before the turn onto West Robb.

“Right?” Puck shrugs. “More power to ‘em.”

“Our world just got twice as big,” Kurt says. “That feels... strange. I’m happy and relieved, but it’s still...”

“Really fucking weird,” Puck finishes for him. “Twice as many people to shoot zombies, two more people to help out, but two more people to feed and two more people, period.”

“Two more backs to watch,” Kurt adds. “Though the two of them seem to have an... arrangement, of sorts.” He cuts his eyes over to Puck, then quickly looks back at the road, before adding, softly, “And if it ever comes to it? It’s always going to be you.”

Puck takes one hand off his rifle briefly and squeezes Kurt’s leg. “Right back at you, Stud.”

Kurt weaves through streets, taking them a little deeper into the residential area and away from the larger roads. He points at one of the tiny houses, with peeling white paint and a gravel strip off the driveway for a second car to park. “If we park there, we’ll at least hear feet if any other Assholes try to get into the Nav.”

“Good plan,” Puck agrees, nodding. “Didn’t see any movement anywhere along this road, either. Eaten or Zombie.”

Kurt pulls all the way to the back of the gravel, leaving Finn enough room to get the truck at least partially onto it. When the Nav stops, Puck picks up a shotgun as well as his rifle and hops down to the ground. “We’ll go around from this side, let them go around from the other, and meet in the back.”

“Because there’s _four_ of us now,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “I think it might take a while to adjust.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Puck agrees, and they stand with their backs against the house while Finn and Tina get out of Finn’s truck. “On the plus side, _we_ don’t have to split up to clear a place, now.”

“I like that so much better,” Kurt says. 

Puck nods. “Exactly.”

“So, let’s break this door down!” Tina says, quite enthusiastically.

“Or we can check the perimeter and have Puck pick the lock,” Kurt suggests. “Alternatively.”

“We need to see what’s behind here,” Puck agrees. “We’ll go around this side, meet you in the back.”

“Tee just makes me kick the doors in,” Finn says, looking thoughtful. “I guess there’s less surprises this way, though.”

“And less noise,” Kurt answers, then follows Puck as he starts around the side of the house. The back is clear, and there’s even a decent-sized grill on the small concrete pad in the back. Finn and Tina come around from the other side, and Puck picks the lock on the back door. Puck and Tina go in first, pistols drawn, with Kurt and Finn close behind them. The house is so tiny that they clear it in under a minute, then they quickly barricade the front door and put heavy blankets over the small windows. 

Kurt sees Finn rest a hand on Tina’s shoulder, murmuring something in her ear, and then Finn says, “Leave the blanket off the window in the back bedroom. We’ll take that one.”

Puck shrugs. “Fine by me. Let’s unload the essentials and then go raid a garden and cook some dinner.” He pauses and shoots a grin at Kurt. “And take cold showers.”

“Is there any other kind?” Kurt asks. 

“Well, there’s cold showers with someone in them to help warm you up,” Puck replies, voice low. 

Kurt leans close to Puck’s ear and says, “I thought we wanted them to think we did other things, too.”

Puck laughs. “I’ve watched enough PBS with—well, we’re just reverting to hunter-gatherers. Hunt Zombies, gather food, and then you know.” He shrugs and puts his lips against Kurt’s ear. “Then we fuck.”

A pleasant shiver runs through Kurt. “Let’s start on the food, then. I think I’m full up on zombies for the day.”

“Time to bring in a few things,” Puck agrees, and the four of them walk back out to the truck and the Nav. Puck grabs all of the ammunition, the extra weapons, and a few cans of Spam, while Kurt gets a pallet of water, a change of clothes for the two of them, his toiletries bag, and the reusable bag with all the medical supplies. When they’re back inside the house, Kurt notices the differences between what he and Puck carried in and the items Finn and Tina have. Finn has his bag over his shoulder and two bottles of water, while Tina pulls her suitcase and carries a small box with assorted items and photographs. 

“Do you two want to clean those up?” Tina asks, looking at Kurt and Puck’s arms and then at their first aid bag. “Before we worry about food, I mean.” She rummages through her suitcase and pulls out a washcloth. “You’ll want to wash them out.” She turns on the sink and wets the washcloth, then steps toward Puck, washcloth in hand. 

Kurt’s arm shoots out and he catches Tina by the wrist, too hard, and hisses, “Don’t touch.” 

Tina tries to stretch her hand forward, giving Kurt a weird look, but Kurt just tightens his grip. Finn takes a step towards Kurt like he’s going to intervene, and Puck glares at him and growls. The four of them all stare at each other with expressions ranging from anxious to borderline dangerous, until Kurt breaks his stalemate with Tina by snatching the washcloth out of her hand, then releasing her wrist. Finn and Puck continue glaring at each other until Puck starts talking.

“Looks like there’s some late tomatoes, some zucchini, and maybe some early sweet potatoes next door,” Puck says evenly, and his right hand sits on his belt. It’s not quite on his holster, but it’s not a friendly posture. “Why don’t the two of you take that grill a few houses over and get the fire started?”

Finn is the first to break eye contact, looking at Tina instead. Whatever response he’s looking for, he must find, because he shrugs slightly and says, “Sure. Why don’t we go do that?” He brushes his knuckles along the back of Tina’s arm. “Tee, let’s get outside.”

Something in Tina shifts with that statement, and she walks to the door relatively rapidly, waiting until the door is open to turn and look at Puck and Kurt again. “Three houses far enough, Puck?”

“Yeah, three is good,” Puck agrees, and Tina nods in acknowledgment, stepping out the door, Finn following her a little too closely. As the door closes, Puck shakes his head slowly. “Real question is, do we go get our food now, or do we fuck right now?”

“Best use of time would be to get the food now, get it ready, and send it back with them to cook while we clean ourselves up,” Kurt says, gently stroking his thumb across Puck’s arm. “They probably do need to be washed better, at least, and I believe someone said something about keeping me warm in that cold shower.”

Puck grins and puts his hand on Kurt’s face, kissing him hungrily. “That sounds like a good plan, Stud.” When he pulls back, he runs his palm down Kurt’s arm and then turns towards the door. “Cooked dinner, I might have to keep you warm in the shower _and_ cool in bed.”

“Mmm, I know. It’s almost like being human.”

“We’re better than human,” Puck responds, swinging his rifle onto his back and opening up the door. “Assholes get a cooked dinner _and_ all the perks of being Assholes.”

The neighbor’s garden is underwhelming, but they do dig up some early sweet potatoes and pick several zucchini. The sickly looking tomato plant only has one tomato on it, and the two of them eat it like an apple, trading it back and forth until it’s gone. The kitchen in the little house they’re staying in doesn’t have much to yield either beyond a bottle of Jack Daniels, a couple warm cans of Pepsi, half a jar of peanut butter, and one box of out-of-date Hamburger Helper. 

They do find a roll of aluminum foil in one of the drawers, so they make packets for the sweet potatoes and zucchini, then slice up the Spam and wrap it in foil, too. Tina’s head pokes in the door just a minute or two later, Finn hovering behind her like a giant shadow. 

“Is the food ready to put on?” Tina asks, staying outside. 

“One gourmet dinner,” Puck says easily, passing her the foil-wrapped food. “Flat ones are Spam, bulky ones are the vegetables. Everyone gets a calcium chew with dinner, too.”

Tina nods sharply and then wheels around, closing the door behind her, and Puck looks at Kurt and shrugs. “Guess we should get that camping lantern from KMart, since there’s no windows in the bathroom.”

“That and the med bag,” Kurt agrees. They retrieve both and bring them into the bathroom, setting the lantern on the back of the toilet. Kurt unclips his shoulder harness and sets it on the counter, then pulls his tank top over his head.

Puck lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Stud.” He pulls off his own tank top and looks down briefly, then back at Kurt. Puck’s chest is covered in long, deep scratches and roughly circular bruises. Kurt glances down at his own chest, noting the bruises and bitemarks, and the bites that are deeper than marks, the skin broken and smeared with dried blood. 

Kurt places his fingertips over a row of scratches and traces them down Puck’s chest to the waistband of his jeans, catching one finger underneath the waistband and running it around to the button. Puck slides his hand over Kurt’s neck and shoulders, stepping closer to him. 

“Trying to distract me?”

“I’m checking you for injuries, Butterfly,” Kurt says, smiling sweetly. “Why would you think I have ulterior motives?”

“‘Cause I know my Stud,” Puck says with a grin. “And I think we should be naked now.”

“I think we should be naked now and stay naked until the food’s ready,” Kurt says, unzipping Puck’s jeans. “And then we should get naked again.”

Puck shrugs easily. “That works for me.” He puts his hands on Kurt’s waist, unfastening Kurt’s jeans and then sliding his hands under both jeans and underwear. “Clothes are highly overrated. Especially in early September during the apocalypse,” he adds with a wry smile.

The water is cold, but they take their time in the shower, using Tina’s washcloth to carefully clean each other’s wounds. The cut on Puck’s arm is deeper than Kurt had realized, and he alternates the washcloth and his lips over the broken skin. 

“This needs stitches,” Kurt says. 

“Think we’ll have to skip raiding for suture kits or whatever, though,” Puck says, wrapping his other arm around Kurt’s waist to steady them both. “We’ll just try to keep them closed up until we can improvise something.”

“I’m cleaning that up with an alcohol pad when we’re out. We might have butterfly tape in the med bag.”

“But we don’t have any stud tape,” Puck quips. “What am I supposed to use on you?”

“You’re supposed to hold me together until I heal,” Kurt answers. “I’ll have to cut your dinner up for you.”

Puck just smiles slightly. “I guess I can handle that. Unless we have steak. Then I’ll be upset not to cut it myself.”

“Hopefully I’ll be healed before we find a steak garden to raid, but if not, I’ll hold myself together while you cut both our steaks,” Kurt says, giggling. “Deal?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Get out of this shower and find a better use for our time?”

“Definitely.”

They’re sitting in the leather recliner in the small living room, wearing just their jeans, with their pistols pointed at the back door when Finn and Tina come back in with the foil packets of food. Kurt lowers his gun as soon as he confirms it’s Tina coming through the door; Puck keeps his raised until Finn locks the door behind them.

“Dinnertime,” Tina trills. “I walked back down the road and killed two zombies while it cooked.”

Kurt makes a quiet hum of concern, and Puck stares at her incredulously. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I was bored,” Tina explains, “and every zombie we kill today is one less to kill tomorrow, right?”

“Keeps the area clear until we move on,” Finn says. “That’s what we’ve been doing.”

“ _Or_ ,” Puck says, “it lets every damn Asshole in a mile radius know where you are and that you have a gun _and_ ammunition, not to mention we still don’t know if noise attracts the Zombies.” He shakes his head and purses his lips before letting out a heavy sigh of criticism. “The goal is fucking survival, not singlehandedly exterminating the Zombie population of Lima, Ohio.”

“I want them all _dead_ ,” Tina retorts immediately. “Deader than dead. I want them all hacked to pieces and drowning in the river.” Her eyes look slightly glazed, and her tone has a note of hysteria. 

Finn immediately shifts his stance, moving closer so he’s hovering behind Tina again. “Dead zombies don’t eat people,” Finn says, simply. “You don’t have to worry about dead zombies.”

“You _also_ don’t have to worry about Zombies that aren’t anywhere near you unless you go _looking_ for them,” Puck says firmly. “There’s a limited amount of ammunition. It’s a lot, but it’s limited. There’s a limited amount of _everything_ now. You can’t go borrowing trouble like that! And what if some Asshole had heard the shot? Were you ready to shoot someone over Spam? Or maybe you were gonna let them have the Spam?”

“I highly suggest you not do that last one,” Kurt says, pleasantly. 

“Don’t touch his shit,” Puck agrees. “There’s a guy in Bowling Green who’ll back us up on that one.”

“If he survived the blood loss,” Kurt adds. “Zombies are one thing. Unless you’re ready to shoot people, you need to stop creating opportunities for that.”

“Then we use the fucking ammunition until it’s gone,” Tina says, shrugging negligently. “And if we shoot people, we can take theirs, right? The fewer zombies, the better.”

“It’s not like there’s a long-term,” Finn says. “I’m not lying down and getting eaten, so get them before they get us... until there’s nothing else to do.”

“Like hell there’s not a long-term!” Puck nearly yells in response. He looks at Kurt and sighs. “Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered. They’re not going to want to come with us.”

“Nice to know we tacked on four days of additional risk for walking Eaten,” Kurt says. “Whose plan is what, exactly? Shoot until the bullets are gone, then get turned and become a problem for the next Assholes?”

“We’ve kept two bullets,” Finn explains, like it should be obvious. “We won’t use those on the zombies. I’ll make sure the zombies don’t kill us.”

Puck sighs and slowly starts to stand up, pulling Kurt with him. “Let’s eat. I can’t deal with this shit on an empty stomach.”

“I don’t know, Butterfly. Seems like we’re wasting the food at this point,” Kurt says. He says it quietly, but loud enough for Finn and Tina to hear him. “I don’t feed Eaten.”

“We’re not going to get eat—” Finn begins, but Kurt cuts him off with a raised hand. 

“Puck’s right. No more talking right now, Finn.” Kurt gestures to the rickety kitchen table. “We’ll pretend to be civilized for the next ten minutes at least.” He goes to the cabinets and pulls down plates and silverware for each of them, setting the table before pulling out a chair for Puck and then sitting down himself. 

Finn and Tina stand in the middle of the kitchen staring at them, still holding the packets of food. Kurt gestures at them again, and they sit at the table like they’ve forgotten how to sit in chairs, while Kurt unfolds the food packets. Once the food is laid out, Finn reaches out to take a sweet potato, but Puck pulls the aluminum foil packet just out of Finn’s reach and glares again. Very deliberately, Puck takes a spoon and serves all of them: first himself, then Kurt, then Tina, and finally Finn. 

Finn picks up his piece of Spam with his fingers, and Kurt and Puck exchange a look. “There’s a fork, Hudson,” Puck says, his voice almost too even.

Finn’s eyes flick over to Tina, then back to Puck. He says, “So?” and continues bringing the piece of Spam up to his mouth.

“So use it, or I take your fucking Spam and give it to Stud.”

Tina looks at Finn and picks up a piece of zucchini with one hand, slowly bringing it towards her mouth. 

Puck turns to Kurt. “Stud, I think Tina wants you to have her zucchini,” he says, almost conversationally. 

“Yes, she must,” Kurt agrees. He reaches out and plucks the piece of zucchini from Tina’s hand, placing it on his own plate and deliberately cutting a bite from it with the edge of his fork. 

“Fuck you two,” Finn says, pushing away from the table. “You’re not in charge of us. You don’t _own_ us. Who do you think you are?”

“Where’d your dinner come from, Hudson?” Puck says, voice still conversational, but now there’s an underlying edge to it. “You’ve been eating stale doughnuts and picking fights with Zombies because apparently you’re just waiting for the bullets to run out. Tonight, you’ve got fresh food and meat and even some vitamin supplements, so sit the fuck down and eat your dinner like a good boy.”

Finn’s nostrils flare and his face turns red, but he still looks at Tina, who gives the faintest nod, before he pulls his chair back in. He picks up his fork and stabs the piece of zucchini on his plate, leaning over and plopping it onto Tina’s plate, with a defiant glance back at Puck. Puck doesn’t react at all, and the four of them proceed to eat their meal with their utensils.

As the small meal winds down, Kurt carefully cuts a small bite from his zucchini and holds his fork out in front of Finn’s face. 

“Thank you for using your good manners, Finn,” Kurt coos at him, suppressing a smile. Finn frowns, but reaches out to take the zucchini from Kurt’s fork with his fingers. Kurt pulls the fork away. “ _Good_ manners, Finn,” he repeats. 

Finn’s frown deepens, becoming almost a glower, but he leans forward and lets Kurt feed him the bite from the fork before sitting back in his seat, chewing slowly. 

“Don’t you have something to say to Kurt, Hudson?” Puck asks, eyes fixed on Finn. 

Kurt can tell that Finn’s trying to decide what, if anything, he’s going to say, because Finn keeps looking at Tina for a cue. This time, Tina looks over at Puck, then briefly at Kurt, before nodding very slowly but noticeably.

“Thank you,” Finn mutters. 

Puck smiles approvingly, but there’s still an underlying edge to it. “We found some whiskey,” he announces, “so everyone can have a shot after dinner.”

**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #17: Only one person can be in charge.**

Puck knows, and Kurt does too, that things are different now. Puck’s pretty sure that Finn and Tina don't fully understand that they aren't living in a democracy anymore. It's not anything approaching a democracy, because they aren't even living in a society anymore.

It's not a tribe, either, though some of those PBS documentaries like to talk about the hunter-gatherer tribes. For starters, there aren't enough of them to be a tribe. If they are anything named, they are a pack, and a pack is so far from a democracy that it's not even amusing. 

Packs have a hierarchy, and just one person or animal in the pack is in charge. The sooner Finn and Tina have the realizations that they aren't dying soon and that they aren't even close to being in charge, then things will start operating a lot more smoothly.


	14. Chapter 14

The Jack Daniels goes a long way towards improving everyone’s moods and, where relevant, behavior. It also get them all talking, the four of them sitting on the floor of the living room, Puck leaning against the front of the recliner with Kurt tucked under his arm, Tina sitting across from Puck with Finn beside and slightly behind her. 

“And that was when the power went off. Right as I was getting to the good part,” Tina says. “At first I thought it’d flicker on and off for awhile, but that was it.”

“We’d just taken pizza out of the microwave in a house we were raiding in Toledo,” Kurt says, almost wistfully. 

“And ice cream,” Puck adds. “They’d had a party or something, because we had cake with the pizza and ice cream.”

“LeRoy was dead under the piano and we didn’t know it yet,” Finn says in a flat voice. 

“How do you die under a piano during the Zombie apocalypse?” Puck asks, giving Finn a weird look. “I knew the Berrys were a little strange, but that’s.” He shakes his head. 

“Well, vodka and Xanax’ll do that, I guess.” Finn leans forward slightly, so he’s hovering over Tina again. “I don’t think he even knew what was happening. He was already pretty shitfaced when I got there. Just laid down and died.”

“So the only Assholes we saw before you two were Karofsky and Azimio,” Puck says, obviously changing the subject away from the Berrys and what happened after Finn left them. 

“I went to Brittany’s house after I left Mike’s, and her parents were still fine,” Tina says, “and after I found Finn, we went to both Mercedes’ and Quinn’s.” She falls silent after she says Quinn’s name, looking subdued.

Kurt wants to ask when they went to Quinn’s, but that means acknowledging to himself, and possibly to Puck, that he’s fairly certain he watched her die in a Walgreens parking lot. 

“Their places empty?” Puck asks. “Or trashed?”

“Mercedes’ house was empty,” Finn says, holding one hand out like he’s going to rest it on Tina’s leg. It never quite comes to rest. 

“Quinn...Quinn was there,” Tina answers slowly. “Still alive.”

“For a little while, anyway,” Finn mutters. “For a little while.”

“So what happened?” Puck asks. “She go with you two?”

“We were trying to get more water at the Walgreens,” Finn starts, looking at Tina. 

“It seemed like a good store to try, since it was smaller,” Tina continues, nodding a little, “And when we got there, there weren’t any zombies around. Finn busted out the glass of the door with the baseball bat, we headed inside, and Finn grabbed the water. We made a couple of trips out and decided to make one more before we left.”

“Quinn had the bat. She was standing by the doors.” Finn’s face becomes increasing blank and his voice more monotone. “I was inside loading up the water when I heard her scream and I heard Tina fire the rifle.”

“Wait. Which Walgreens?” Puck demands, straightening a little. “And which day was it?”

“It was Thursday,” Tina says. “On Allentown.”

Puck shakes his head. “We were at the Taco Bell siphoning gas. Heard screams and shots and booked it out of there.” Kurt sits silently, one hand curved around Puck’s thigh. 

“Well, that was Quinn getting eaten,” Finn says. “That’s when we pocketed the two bullets.”

“One block, Stud,” Puck says to Kurt. “All that driving and we missed them by one block.”

“One tiny thing,” Kurt murmurs. “That’s how it’s been since the beginning of this.”

“After that, we went back to my car and emptied it out,” Tina says with a little shrug. “Keep moving, don’t get trapped, find food.”

“Don’t get eaten,” Finn adds. “Don’t just lie there and get eaten.”

“Not getting eaten’s a good first step, yeah,” Puck says. “But sometimes it’s good to stop and take stock.” He pauses. “Seems like the difference here is you two keep expecting to die, and we’re still planning on living for another eighty years or whatever.”

“How?” Tina asks, and she looks genuinely curious. “There’s no electricity and it doesn’t seem like the government is going to be any help. We have no idea how much of the world’s affected.”

“We don’t need the government,” Kurt says. “Puck has a plan and, frankly, if anyone is equipped to keep us alive, he is.”

“First of all, the rest of the world doesn’t actually matter. Second, what’re our main needs?” Puck asks, then answers himself. “Food, shelter, water. We can get a few water filters and take care of the water. Food and shelter—where can you think of that provides both of those?”

“Grocery’s gonna run out of boxes and cans eventually, though,” Finn says. 

“Luckily,” Puck says sarcastically, “that wasn’t what I was talking about.” He sighs and looks at Kurt, his fingers absently tracing the upper edge of Kurt’s cut. “Does he really think I meant the grocery store as a long-term plan?” he asks quietly. “Or is he fucking with me?”

“It’s Finn,” Kurt answers pointedly. “So I’m going with answer A.”

“Other places that have food readily available, not to mention.” Puck breaks off. “What’s the word I’m looking for? Re-something.”

“Renewable? Replenishable?” Kurt offers. 

“Yeah, replenishable!” Puck nods and looks back at Finn and Tina. “Replenishable.”

“Like... a garden?” Finn asks. “Right?”

Puck rolls his eyes. “I’ll take ‘Farms’ for a thousand, Alec.” 

“Ahh.” Tina nods slowly. “But do any of us know anything about farming?”

“Puck would have passed his horticulture class,” Kurt points out. “But he was _too_ good at it.”

“Figured we’d spend an hour or two and raid a bookstore, too. There’s got to be how-to-farm books, right? And all of us can read. So.” Puck shrugs. “Thing is, if we have a farm, and the farm has a cow, we’ll have milk and produce.” He groans. “Dammit, Stud, we should have taken that chicken that first day!”

“Even if we’d wanted to, we did get a bit distracted,” Kurt says. “I’m sure Ohio has more chickens.”

“True,” Puck concedes, then brightens a little. “But that was really good pie.” He grins at Kurt and then turns back to the others. “So. A farm. Probably Amish, or near an Amish farm, anyway, so that we can plow and shit without gasoline. Build a perimeter around the house and fields.”

“You mean... a perimeter like a fence, right?” Tina asks. “So there’d be places to go outside, where the zombies wouldn’t be?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” Finn alternates between looking at Tina and nodding his head. 

“So starting tomorrow, we gather up some supplies.” Puck looks thoughtful. “I’d like to go to Costco again. Put a shell up on Finn’s truck, get a trailer for both vehicles with a shell. Then find a good spot. We should get as much as we can around here, though. We do know the streets better.” He stops and looks at Tina and Finn. “Are you both in?”

“We’re in,” Tina says with a nod after a moment. 

“Then give me those damn bullets.”

Finn doesn’t make any immediate move. Tina puts her hand over her pocket and visibly starts. “What? Why?”

“Because this is for Assholes who are planning to live, not walking Eatens with an express ticket to dead in their pockets, that’s why.” Tina still doesn’t make any effort to pull the bullet from her pocket, and Puck rolls his eyes. “Consider it the price of admission. In exchange, you get more weapons to use against Zombies, when appropriate.”

That is apparently enough for Tina, who nods a little and pulls a bullet from her pocket, then rolls it across the floor to Puck before looking at Finn and nodding. Finn reaches into his pocket and tries to hand the bullet to Tina, who pulls her hand back slightly and shakes her head. At that point, Finn leans forward and sets the bullet on the floor in front of Puck. 

“I’m not getting eaten,” Finn says. “I’ll get another bullet before I let that happen.”

“None of us are going to be Eaten,” Puck responds evenly, picking up the two bullets and then tossing them into the nearby box of ammunition. “That’s sort of the point.”

“‘Cause I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it up close. That’s not happening to me, man, I’m not—”

“That right, it’s _not_ ,” Kurt interrupts. “Puck just told you it’s not, and if Puck says it’s not, then it’s not. Why are we still discussing this?” Puck’s hand squeezes Kurt’s shoulder slightly, his fingers dipping to run over the butterfly tape and back over the top end of the cut. 

Tina frowns at Kurt before speaking. “He has valid concerns, Kurt. What happened to Quinn—” She shakes her head. “There are worse things than that, even. It’d be better to just become one of them, but even that. No.” She shakes her head. “It’s a fair thing to worry about.”

Finn doesn’t say anything else, but he looks wild-eyed, breathing heavily. Tina runs her hand down his back repeatedly, taking one of his hands in her other one. Kurt frowns at the pair of them, sighing.

“I’m not sure it’s particularly fair to indulge hysteria and worst-case-scenario paranoia,” Kurt says, leveling a look at Tina. “None of us have exactly had an easy time of it, but some of us are still holding our shit together. The two of you are just _feeding_ it.”

Tina visibly bristles, drawing back a little. “You two certainly act like you’re having a grand old time!” she fires back. “Playing around in bathrooms, raiding gardens, going to Toledo and back!”

Kurt leans forward slowly, moving closer to Tina. “Playing in bathrooms? _Playing_. In Bathrooms.” 

“Yes,” Tina says defiantly. “Look at the two of you, like it’s some kind of joke!” 

Kurt’s arm shoots out and he slaps Tina across the face hard, though not nearly as hard as he’d have liked to. She falls back slightly, pressing her hand to her cheek and gaping at him. 

“The hell is wrong with you?” Finn shouts at him, a hand on Tina’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Kurt!” He looks like he’s about to climb to his feet. 

“Sit down and shut up!” Puck snaps at Finn, his left arm still around Kurt. His right hand is resting on his belt, again. 

“Fuck you!” Finn shoots back. “I don’t know who died and made you god, but a can of Spam doesn’t mean you can act like you own us!”

“This is not a fucking democracy, idiot!” Puck snarls back. “Now sit the fuck down and let the two of them work it out.”

Kurt slides his hand a little higher up Puck’s thigh before addressing Finn. “Finn, I highly suggest you listen to him, considering he had no obligation to come back to Lima for you after you stormed out without so much as a weapon when the shit hit the fan.” He turns to Tina, and continues, “And if your idea of ‘playing in a bathroom’ includes being chased through a Wal-Mart by thirty-some-odd zombies and trapped in a small, dark room overnight, not sure if one or both of us were going to turn and start eating each other, then yes. It was a fucking Roman holiday. However, if you don’t have all the information, you sit down and you shut the fuck up.”

Tina looks moderately cowed, and she nods slowly, averting her eyes. “We didn’t know—you didn’t say—”

“We didn’t say a lot of things. I imagine the same is true for you,” Kurt responds. “We both have long lists of moments we don’t particularly wish to relive, I’m sure.”

“Problem seems to be that while we’ve assumed that for them, they haven’t for us,” Puck says evenly, then turns towards Finn and Tina. “Just because we don’t mention something doesn’t mean we didn’t experience it. You two might want to remember that.”

“We—mainly Puck—made good decisions at the beginning. That’s not the same as having a good time,” Kurt points out. “And while finding the two of you might have been chance, the two of us aren’t still alive because of luck. We’re taking the time to think things through. If you can’t do that, then be quiet and let the people who can do it.”

“You can’t just hit her,” Finn starts. “That’s not okay.”

“Finn, we are so far outside the realm of okay at this point that I’m not even going to dignify that,” Kurt sighs, settling back against Puck. Puck tightens his arm around Kurt and kisses his neck. “She’s welcome to hit me back if she really wants to see what happens next.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that, though, Tina,” Puck says. “Really wouldn’t.”

“We came back here for you, Finn,” Kurt says softly. “I wanted to find my brother, because it’s the last thing Dad told us to do, to watch out for each other. I was happy to find you and want you to stay with us, but I’m not having you with us at the expense of us making it out of here. And if we’re going to make it out of here, we are going to do what Puck says. End of story.”

Finn puts one arm around Tina and almost hunches up around her, but he nods his head in response, not quite looking Kurt in the eye. 

“It’s starting to get dark,” Puck announces. “You two go get an hour or so of sleep. We’ll switch out watch, in pairs, every four hours after that.”

“What do you mean?” Tina asks. “Like...sit awake in the dark with guns and just look out the windows?”

“Exactly,” Puck nods. “Four’s too long for one person, but since we’re in pairs, it’ll let the other pair get a longer stretch of sleep. Up at six and we should be out hitting a few places by six-thirty.”

“Oh.” Tina looks somewhat surprised, but then she nods. “Okay. You’ll wake us up when it’s our turn? Or do we need an alarm?”

“No, no alarms.” Puck shakes his head. “We’ll wake you up.”

Tina and Finn stand and walk towards the bedroom in the back of the house, and Puck waits until they close the door behind them before putting his head back against the recliner. “Dammit, Stud,” he sighs.

“I know. I know,” Kurt says, running his hand up and down Puck’s leg. “I didn’t... I thought he might be dead. I didn’t think he’d be so...”

“Broken?” Puck supplies. “Yeah. Me either.” He turns his head towards Kurt and smiles faintly. “Go look at what else is in the ammo box.”

Kurt sighs dramatically. “I’m so comfortable, but I suppose if I must.” He uses the arm of the recliner to pull himself to his feet, then crosses to the box of ammunition and looks inside. He holds up the container of jelly beans and smiles. “Why, Butterfly! Are you trying to seduce me?”

This time, Puck’s grin is wider. “I don’t know, Stud. Is it working?”

“Fairly certain you don’t need jelly beans for that, but yes,” Kurt says. “Really really.”

Puck pushes himself off the floor enough to scoot into the recliner, stretching out one arm for Kurt. “Oh, I know I don’t need the jelly beans. That’s just for extra fun.”

Two hours later, Kurt pushes open the door of the back bedroom. The window is wide open and the blankets are all tossed on the floor. Finn is naked and facedown on the bed, slightly curled like a human blanket on top of a balled-up shape that Kurt assumes is Tina. Kurt sighs and crosses to the window, quietly closing it.

“Finn. Your watch,” Kurt says, putting his hand on Finn’s shoulder to shake him. As soon as his hand touches Finn’s skin, Finn is awake and flailing, screaming. Kurt jumps backwards. 

Puck bursts in just a few seconds later, rifle in hand, then stops once he’s in the room. “What the hell?” he hisses, crossing the room and clamping his hand over Finn’s mouth. “Dude, shut up!”

The white shows all the way around Finn’s irises, reflecting the low light filtering in through the window. His nostrils flare and his arms still grab at the bed and Tina, who sits up sleepily and then puts her hand on Finn’s thigh, patting it. 

“There’s no zombies here,” Tina says quietly. “Okay?”

Finn’s breathing slows slightly and he nods behind Puck’s hand. Puck removes his hand cautiously, still giving Finn a dark look. “We still don’t know if noise brings them,” is his only comment as he steps back, standing beside Kurt. “Your watch.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Finn whispers. 

“You can’t just wake him up like that,” Tina says, still patting Finn’s thigh. “He’s—”

“We’re not fucking robots,” Puck says tiredly, cutting Tina off. “I fucking know people can’t control their reactions when they wake up, but you can’t expect us to just guess about how best to wake you up, either.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Finn keeps repeating. He rocks back and forth on the bed slightly. Kurt sighs and reaches out to stroke Finn’s hair. 

“It’s okay, Finn,” Kurt says, his voice soft. “Nobody’s mad. Nobody’s hurt.” He keeps running his fingers through Finn’s hair until Finn stops rocking and apologizing. Finn leans into Kurt’s touch and shudders. “It’s okay,” Kurt repeats. “All four of us are fine.”

“You good to keep watch?” Puck says, addressing both Finn and Tina, but he looks at Tina, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Good. We’re gonna sleep. Wake us up at 2.” With that, Puck turns and heads out of the room, his footsteps echoing as he walks the short distance to the other bedroom. 

“Don’t open the windows again,” Kurt says, still keeping his voice low and gentle. “Especially if you know you’re not easy wakers.” He leans over and kisses the top of Finn’s head. “I’m sorry this happened to us, Finn. I really am. Let us keep us alive, okay?”

Finn nods his head slowly, and Kurt walks out of the room and into the front bedroom. He unfastens his jeans, pushing them and his underwear off, then slides into bed with Puck. Puck pulls Kurt close, his arms wrapping around Kurt’s chest, and he tucks Kurt’s head under his chin.

“He’s so damaged,” Kurt whispers into Puck’s neck. “He’s just so broken.” He presses his face against the crook of Puck’s neck and the tears start running down his face, dripping onto Puck. 

Puck puts his lips against Kurt’s head, murmuring indistinguishably as his hands slowly rub up and down Kurt’s back. “I’m sorry, Stud,” Puck finally says more loudly. 

“Me, too,” Kurt mutters. “I was so mad at him tonight, but... how can I be mad at him if he’s that broken? He...” Kurt holds Puck more tightly. “Oh, god, I think he was _there_. I think he saw it.”

“Probably,” Puck answers softly. “I wish I’d been able to stop him. It didn’t change anything for the Berrys. Just fucked Finn up.”

“It’s still you. If it comes down to it,” Kurt says fiercely, his lips against Puck’s collarbone. “It’s you. It’s always going to be you.” 

“Together to the end of the world,” Puck whispers. “And maybe past it.”

The rest of the night goes smoothly, though when Kurt goes into the back bedroom at six, he carefully reaches underneath Finn, who is once again sprawled naked entirely on top of Tina, and touches Tina’s arm to wake her. 

“Mmm, it’s still dark,” Tina whines, but she’s already starting to sit up. 

“Gives us time to dress, eat breakfast. You can even take a shower if you want to,” Kurt says. “We also get a jump on any other Asshole who might be thinking of hitting the same places we are.”

“Okay,” Tina nods, and then she leans over Finn’s ear, clearly whispering, until her voice gets louder and louder, though it’s still impossible to make out what, exactly, she is saying. Finn’s eyes open and he inhales sharply, but there’s no screaming, at least. Finn mutters something to Tina, and Tina nods with a very soft “Sorry.”

Tina stands up, still nude, and goes to her suitcase to grab a few things, then walks out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. Finn slowly pushes himself up to sitting, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, Kurt.”

“Hi, Finn,” Kurt says. He sits down on the bed next to Finn and runs his hand through Finn’s hair. “Feeling better this morning?”

Finn nods, then looks down at himself. “I’m naked.”

Kurt smiles wryly and shakes his head. “Well, there’s manners and then there’s the apocalypse. Use your fork and we won’t worry about it too much, okay?” He ruffles Finn’s hair one more time and leans up to kiss him on his forehead. “I’m glad we found you, Finn. We’re going to get through this.”

“I won’t let you get eaten,” Finn says, and his eyes are a little too wide and glassy, but Kurt smiles at him anyway. “I promise, Kurt. I won’t let you get eaten.”

“I know you won’t, Finn,” Kurt says, patting Finn’s shoulder. “And Puck won’t, either. Nobody’s getting eaten. Now put your pants on and come eat breakfast like a good boy, alright?”

He gives Finn one more pat and leaves the room, walking back up to the kitchen, where Puck is preparing breakfast from cans. Kurt plants small kisses along Puck’s ear. “They’re up.”

Puck nods and turns his head so his lips find Kurt’s. “Gourmet breakfast. I think we should head back towards the mall first. Books, jeans for everyone. We’ll check for more gardens around here when we come back.”

“And we’re finding you some cookies today,” Kurt says. “New personal goal, remember?”

“Okay.” Puck grins and sets the plates on the table. “Canned pears, canned peaches, walnuts, and the rest of the maraschino cherries.”

“How fancy!” Kurt sits down at the table. 

“Enjoy the red dye,” Puck says wryly, taking his own seat. “Oh, and can’t forget, water to drink, too,” he says, pointing at the four bottles of water. 

“Breakfast of champions.” Kurt is almost done with his breakfast before Tina and Finn join them at the table. Finn gives them a small, sheepish smile and picks up his fork to eat his fruit. Kurt smiles back at him and finishes his food. “Well, I’m going to get my gear.”

He stands up from the table and goes back to the bedroom, strapping on his shoulder harness and his belt. After he’s suitably armed, he takes a moment to poke around the bedroom, which appears to have belonged to a middle school aged boy, based on the comic books and the size of the clothing in the drawers. Kurt wonders what happened to the boy, but only briefly, because honestly, it’s an easy question to answer, and it’s not worth mulling over. 

When he returns to the kitchen, the table is clear and Finn is washing the dishes while Tina and Puck discuss strategy. Puck puts his arm out without looking up, and Kurt steps into Puck’s one-armed embrace, letting himself be pulled down onto one of Puck’s legs. 

“No, you’re right,” Tina’s saying. “And if we head over and there’s a group of zombies, we switch days? Or at least change to the plan for the afternoon?”

“Afternoon,” Puck says after a moment. “The clumps seem to relocate every few hours.”

“I think they’re merging,” Kurt says. “Like beads of mercury. The small clumps are gravitating together.”

“Maybe so.” Puck sighs. “In that case, we definitely don’t want to waste any days. Costco’ll either be deserted around it or swarmed.”

“Do they know about the Eatens?” Kurt asks, keeping his voice too low for Finn to hear him. 

“What about the Eatens?” Tina demands, voice equally quiet. 

“They turn,” Puck answers her quietly. “We’re not sure how quickly, but. That’s why there’s fewer bodies than before.”

“Are you _sure_? How can you know that for sure?”

Puck sighs and looks at Kurt. “Do we tell her?” Puck says. “It’s pretty hard to swallow.”

“I think we need to, but,” Kurt glances over at Finn. “Not Finn. You understand, Tina? _Not Finn_.”

Tina nods slowly, and she raises her voice a little. “Finn, can you go look in my suitcase for my brush?” Finn smiles at her and heads straight back into the bedroom. “Okay,” Tina says brusquely. “Tell me.”

“When we got back to Lima, one of the first places we went was the Berrys’ house,” Kurt begins. “It was...”

“Awful,” Puck says bluntly. “Hiram was a mess in the living room, and Rachel...Rachel was strewn down the hallway and at the bottom of the stairs. I don’t know what Finn’s told you, but we knew he’d been there because Rachel’s room was barricaded from the inside, and he made a rope and tied it to the bed to climb out. We left. They were still there.”

“But the next day, after—after we heard the screams and the gunfire,” Kurt continues, and shudders. “We were driving back and we saw them.”

“Saw who?” Tina stares at them. “Or what? I’m confused.”

“Hiram and Rachel,” Puck says simply. “They were Zombies.”

“But they were eaten.”

“And they looked it,” Kurt says. “But it was them. Rachel didn’t—if I hadn’t known the clothes and she hadn’t been with Hiram...”

“Oh, shit.” Tina sags a little. “So Finn could see her? Walking around?”

“No,” Puck says firmly. “She— _it_ —isn’t walking around still.”

“Oh. Oh.” Tina straightens a little and nods. “I get it.” She stands up immediately, walks to the folding table next to the recliner, and picks up her hairbrush. “Finn! I found it! Sorry, it was in here!”

Finn comes sprinting back into the living room, a little wild-eyed, but looking strangely relieved. “Oh! Good! I looked and looked, Tee, but I couldn’t find it! I kept looking, though.”

“It’s fine!” Tina says, smiling at him. “Are you ready to go steal things?”

“I have my kicking shoes on,” Finn says, holding up his right foot.

“No, Finn. No kicking,” Kurt reminds him. “Remember?”

Finn shrugs. “Okay. That’s right. Yes, I’m ready.”

“Tina, you’re behind Kurt. Finn, you’re behind me. When we stop, Tina’s getting out first. Stay in pairs. If there’s only one or two Zombies, only shoot them _if they notice you_. Three or more, tell the rest of us. Got it?”

Tina nods. “Got it.” Finn nods his agreement. 

“I’ll lock the door behind us. The truck looks like it _could_ belong at this house. I don’t think any Assholes will bother it.”

Kurt unholsters his Glock and leads the way to the Nav, which feels strangely full with the addition of Finn and Tina in the seat behind him. Kurt drives back towards Elida and then down North Cable to the Ray’s. The parking lot has several abandoned car and one partially-eaten body slumped against the formerly-automated front door of the Ray’s. Tina looks at the Eaten worriedly as Kurt pulls up parallel to the sidewalk, and once the Nav stops, she jumps out and immediately puts a round through its head.

Finn tips his head to the side, a look of confusion passing over his face, and Kurt says, “I think I saw it twitching. Maybe it was sleeping.”

“Melons, apples, citrus,” Puck says, walking around the front. “Water. Canned fruit. Stud and I’ll get the vegetables. Flour. Honey. And spices, we’re going to need something to make food taste okay. Everyone grab a cart, one hand on your gun at all times.” He picks the lock and then pushes the door open. He walks in and stops three steps inside, one hand indicating for them to wait, and then squeezes the trigger on his rifle, two shots echoing before the sound of two bodies hitting the floor also echoes. “Let’s move fast.”

Kurt’s heart is pounding, even with the addition of two more people, and he doesn’t let Puck out of his sight as they roll into the produce section. One zombie lurches out from behind a display of rotting bananas, and Kurt calls out, “Got it!” and takes a breath before firing. The zombie falls backwards into the apples, then tips forward onto the floor. Puck steps forward and kicks the zombie out of the way, grabbing all six of the remaining bags of apples and putting them into his cart. 

Tina picks up several bags of oranges, and a bag each of lemons, limes, and grapefruit, before making a face as she passes what used to be lettuce. Finn rolls his cart a little past Tina and then starts chucking something into it. “Nuts!” he says, when Kurt looks at him questioningly. “All of them!”

Puck shrugs and starts walking out of the produce section, down the aisle with juice. “Tomato juice and V8,” he says, staring at the different kinds of juice. “Oh, and those weird flavor things for water bottles. Those purification tablets are gonna taste like shit.”

Finn and Tina roll around the back side of the aisles, and about thirty seconds later, another shot echoes from the other side of the store. They kill another zombie on the canned vegetable aisle, then Kurt shoots one more while Puck is rearranging cans to sort tomatoes, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, carrots, and spinach into the cart. He leaves the peas. 

They clear the shelves of all the dried beans and peas and most of the white and brown rice. Kurt grabs two different flavors of pre-sweetened Kool-Aid and one canister of Tang. “For the vodka,” he says. “Remember?”

Puck grins. “Right. Apocalyptic orange juice.”

“Well, if it’s good enough for astronauts,” Kurt says, loftily. They clear out the shelf-stable milk, all the canned condensed and evaporated milk, and Puck grabs all the cans of Campbell’s cheddar cheese soup and blocks of Velveeta. Their last stop is water, where they meet back up with Finn and Tina, and they fill the carts with all the water. 

As they’re rolling back towards the front of the store to head towards the pharmacy, though, Kurt suddenly yelps and darts down an aisle, where he grabs three packs of Chips Ahoy and four packages of Oreos. He’s just shoved them in between the water when a mass of zombies, some of them in blood-crusted white coats, come lurching out of the pharmacy section. 

“I’ve got the blonde on the left,” Puck calls, raising his rifle. 

“Far right,” Kurt shouts, pulling out the Glock and firing. To his right, Tina starts firing into the zombies at random, and Finn follows suit. Tina catches one through the head and two more in center mass, one of which Finn also shoots through the face. Kurt’s zombie drops and he puts two shots into the head of the second zombie Tina caught in the chest. 

Puck’s first zombie falls, his shot straight on the nose, and then he swings his rifle to the side. “Got the other blonde, too,” Puck announces, and his second shot goes a little wide, blasting through one cheekbone instead of the nose. “Close enough,” Puck decides. “Let’s grab some drugs and get out of this place.”

“Which ones?” Tina asks, sliding over the counter. “Just antibiotics or what?”

“Antibiotics, anti-fungal.” Puck looks at Kurt. “What else did we grab before?”

“I don’t think we need more dewormer,” Kurt says. “Stomach stuff, more narcotics if they have them. Antihistamines, maybe epi-pens just in case? Did you want to get more of the Xanax or Valium?”

“ _No._ ” Finn’s voice is shaky, but also very loud. “No. Don’t get that. You don’t need that.”

“We might,” Puck says slowly. “Probably won’t, no, but we’re not going to be back.” He frowns slightly, then his eyes widen. “Birth control, Tina.”

“Why are you telling me?” Tina calls back. “You’re acting like I’m the one that needs it or something.”

“No apocalypse babies!”

While Puck and Tina are clearing the pharmacy shelves and shouting back and forth, Kurt looks back over at Finn. “Finn, let’s go get some—”

“No!” Finn explodes. “Nobody is taking that stuff!”

“Finn,” Kurt says, putting up one hand. “Like Puck said. We might need it.”

“No. We don’t need it. We don’t need it.” Finn looks and sounds frantic.

Kurt calls out, “Butterfly? Wrap this up before we have a situation?”

“Got it!” Puck calls back, and he reappears within twenty seconds, a basket of meds hanging from his elbow. “We need to go?”

“Yes,” Kurt answer, jerking his head in Finn’s direction. “The meds set him off.”

Puck nods. “Right. Let’s get loaded and gone.” He looks over at the pile of pharmacist zombies and starts pushing his cart towards the entrance. Once Tina comes back over the counter, Finn follows her quietly and he doesn’t say anything while he helps load the Nav, or when he’s settled back into the seat behind Puck.

Their next stop is Barnes & Noble, where Puck sends Kurt and Tina in, while he and Finn stay outside. They get an assortment of books on farming, survivalism, cooking, and a variety of other topics, and by the time they are headed to Old Navy, Finn’s his regular chatty self. They load up on extra jeans, shirts, socks and underwear, and a few other things. 

Puck pulls Kurt to the side, voice low. “Can you guess what the little girl’s size would be? The one at Winchesters, I mean? Clothes are good to trade with. All those truckers, surely someone’s willing to trade a couple of CB radios, stuff like that.”

“Practical or fashionable?” Kurt jokes. “Do you think she needs apocalypse cardigan sets?”

“Wouldn’t that conceal a shoulder holster nicely?” Puck grins. “As awful as it sounds, get larger sizes for her, too.”

Kurt nods and selects a nice, but not too bulky, stack of girls clothes across an array of sizes before they leave the store. By this point, it’s late morning, fast approaching noon, so they drive through the residential areas for a while, dodging zombies and looking for gardens. They don’t find much, but it’s enough for lunch on the go. 

After lunch, they hit the other gun store on Elida, which has mostly been picked over but still has a few things they can use, like a backup shoulder holster for Kurt and a nice hip holster for Finn’s pink Missy gun. Next stop is the Advanced Autoparts for backup parts for the Nav and Finn’s truck, then Puck sighs loudly.

“What’s up, Butterfly?” Kurt asks him.

“Need to get more boots,” Puck answers. “Maybe a pair or two without laces, too, but. Best place to get ‘em is Red Wing.”

Kurt frowns and exhales slowly. “Which means...”

“Pretty much, yep,” Puck nods. “Take our chances, Stud?”

“Give them a heads up and crack the windows, rifles ready?” Kurt suggests, nodding his head towards the back. 

“Heads up about what?” Finn asks. “Ready for what?”

Puck turns in his seat and looks directly at Finn. “We’re heading to Red Wing. We’re going right past the hospital. We have no idea what it’s like there. Okay?”

“Let’s roll the windows completely down!” Tina says enthusiastically. “Who knows how many we can take out!”

“Tee, I don’t know,” Finn answers. “Maybe halfway, so nobody can get pulled out.”

“Finn.” Puck says seriously. “Do you understand what I’m saying? We’re going to drive past the hospital.” He turns to Tina. “Cracked’s still good enough to kill them if you aim.”

Tina frowns, almost pouting, but doesn’t say anything else. Finn nods his head a few times. “Yeah, there’s gonna be a lot of them.”

Puck sighs and looks at Kurt, raising his hands up like he has no clue what else to say. “We deal with it if it comes up,” Kurt says softly. Puck sighs a little and nods, settling back in his seat, hands on the rifle. “Seat belts, everybody,” Kurt adds. “Might be driving fast.” He hears two quiet clicks from the back. Puck reaches across and squeezes Kurt’s thigh, then angles himself towards the window. 

It’s not only as bad as Kurt had feared around the hospital; it’s worse. The grass and sidewalk around the hospital are glutted with zombies, and more move in and out of the broken doors. Some of them move slowly, barely turning when the Nav approaches, but another group spins as a mass to come sprinting in their direction. 

“Guys?” Kurt says, pressing down on the gas pedal. 

“Ready,” Puck responds, and before he finishes the word, a shot echoes, then a second one. 

Tina and Finn both have their windows cracked, firing through them, and Kurt takes a hard right. “Making the block!” he shouts. “Don’t want them following us to Red Wing!”

Puck continues to aim and shoot, Tina whoops every time she fires and a zombie drops, and Finn starts yelling randomly, getting progressively louder and more constant. Kurt weaves the Nav through a few blocks and Puck finally fires his rifle and takes out the last straggler. 

“You can stop yelling now, Finn,” Tina says, reloading her weapon as she talks, and Finn’s noise cuts off abruptly as he sits back in his seat. Kurt looks over at Puck and shakes his head faintly. Puck shrugs a little and reaches into the console, where he has some of the rifle’s ammunition stowed, reloading his own gun. 

“We’re all going in this time,” Puck instructs. “Figure out your size and get every single boot in stock in your size. We’ll get a few extras in other sizes for trading, but let’s try to keep those separate. If they have insulated socks, get those too.”

Kurt parks the Nav and they all pour into the Red Wing. Finn and Tina walk to the women’s boots, and Kurt catches Puck by the arm. 

“Did you see them?” Kurt asks under his breath. 

Puck glances towards Finn and then nods once. “Yeah.”

Kurt inhales deeply and lets it out before asking, “Both?”

“Yeah.” Puck wraps his arm around Kurt’s shoulders and kisses his forehead before turning towards the display in front of them. “You’re going to make me get the pull-on ones, aren’t you?”

“We almost lost each other over a shoelace,” Kurt points out. His voice sounds a little shaky, but he continues. “Not letting it happen again.”

“No,” Puck agrees. “We’re not.”


	15. Chapter 15

They clear the store of all the appropriately-sized boots, plus an assortment of extras in random sizes, and when they leave, Kurt takes the long way around, steering clear of the hospital. They find few more gardens, which don’t yield much, and then return to the small house. Kurt and Puck get out of the Nav, but Tina and Finn don’t immediately climb out of the back. 

Puck opens the back door and raises his eyebrows questioningly. “Problem?”

“Finn pinched his finger,” Tina says, lifting Finn’s hand. 

“Well, first aid stuff’s still in the house, mostly, so.” Puck steps back and gestures expansively towards the house.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Kurt mutters. “He’s seventeen, not four.”

Tina scowls at Kurt but climbs out of the Nav, gently dropping Finn’s hand. Two of them go around each side of the house, and then in through the back door, locking it behind them. 

“Med bag’s in the front bathroom,” Kurt says, as he and Puck start setting out food for dinner. Tina nods, and she and Finn disappear into the back. “So, you think someone at Winchesters will want to trade for a radio?”

“Hope so, or a pair, anyway,” Puck says. “We can get plenty of gas there, too, maybe.”

“We’ll need to get you some more gas cans,” Kurt says, grinning at Puck. “We can strap them to the roo—”

“No!” Finn’s voice shouts from the back room. “I’m not lying down!”

“Calm down!” Tina says. “I’m sure it’s not—”

There’s a loud crash followed by more shouting, of which Kurt can only understand the “No!”

“Oh, shit,” Kurt whispers. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Puck sighs, setting down the food on the counter and walking towards the noise, Kurt following close behind him. 

Tina and Finn are in the back bedroom, the contents of the med bag strewn across the floor, and Finn has his back against the wall, gun drawn and pointing at the floor in front of him while he screams at Tina. 

“I’m not lying down and dying! I’m not lying down and getting eaten!” The hand with the gun shakes, but he keeps it pointed at the floor in front of him, like he might have to bring it up at any minute. “They’re not doping me!”

Puck lunges for him, one hand on Finn’s wrist and the other grabbing the gun, Puck’s shoulder hitting Finn’s chest with a solid thud. “Drop it!” Puck demands. 

Finn keeps screaming, “No! No!” but Puck slams against him again, and Finn’s hand opens, the gun falling onto the floor.

Puck kicks it towards Kurt, then gets in Finn’s face. “What the hell?”

“He saw the Valium and the Xanax,” Tina says quietly. 

“You’re not doping me, I’m not lying down, I’m not getting eaten!” Finn shouts at Puck. “You said you’d keep us alive!”

“Have you ever heard of fucking stockpiling? I hope to hell we don’t need to tranquilize anyone ever, but I’d rather have them in four years than wish we’d grabbed them!” Puck yells back. “The only person that is gonna get you killed now is you!”

Finn goes limp and slumps down the wall to the floor, where he starts to rock. Kurt looks at Tina and says, “Alright, you need to explain this now, before my brother gets all of us killed.”

Tina looks between Finn and Kurt and then nods. She walks over to Finn, whispers something in his ear, and then walks back into the kitchen as Kurt and Puck follow her. “Hiram Berry drugged them all,” Tina says quietly. “They kept drinking cosmos and taking Xanax, and eventually Hiram managed to get a few Xanax into Finn, too.” She frowns. “That’s when the zombies came. While everyone was drugged.”

“Hiram Berry is a fucking idiot,” Puck growls. “We should have realized that before now, but.”

“But this is the kind of shit that the two of you need to _tell_ us,” Kurt says. “If Finn freaks out when someone touches him at night or if he sees a bottle of pills, we need to fucking _know_ that, Tina!”

“I didn’t—I didn’t think about it!” Tina cries. “I didn’t know he’d flip just from reading the label, Kurt!”

“It’s Hiram Berry’s bottle,” Kurt says. “If one of you had said something, I could have put it away or at least talked to him.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Tina, you realize he’s _huge_ , right? If this had happened with just you, what would you have been able to do about it?”

Tina pales but doesn’t answer, and she looks down at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry,” she whispers after a moment. “I’ll try to think of anything else.” She looks up. “I—you might have noticed.” She rubs her hands over her arms. “I’m claustrophobic.”

Kurt nods. “That’s why the windows.”

“The windows?” Puck asks. 

“Finn, he opens the windows for me. I have to sleep facing a window.”

“Fucking hell.” Puck sighs and kicks at the floor. “Okay. Well, we’ll get you on a farm and the open air, okay, Tina?”

Tina nods, her face brightening a little. “I liked that. It sounds wonderful.”

“But Finn can’t open the windows at night,” Kurt says softly. “You have to tell him to stop doing that, or,” he looks over at Puck and then back at Tina. “Or Puck will. Better that you do it.”

Tina nods again. “Okay. I will. I’m going to go check on him.”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Puck responds. “Drinks after.”

Once Tina has gone back into the bedroom, Kurt wraps his arms around Puck. “We need to get out of Lima,” he says, pressing his lips to Puck’s shoulder and then gently kissing the taped cut on Puck’s arm. “We really need to get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs. “I had been thinking a day of raiding tomorrow, then use the next day to sort and pack really well, but maybe we need to head out day after tomorrow, early. Think we can raid _and_ pack tomorrow?”

“If it gets us out of here faster? Yes. I’m afraid if we don’t, we’re all going to end up like that.”

Puck nods. “Not going to happen, Stud.” He runs his thumb over Kurt’s lips, then kisses him, the same thumb now running down the length of Kurt’s cut. Puck’s tongue darts out, tracing Kurt’s lips, and his other hand comes up to the clip of Kurt’s shoulder holster. 

“Starting something?”

“I’ve been wanting to since you walked back in here after breakfast,” Puck replies, unfastening the holster and removing it, then putting his hands under Kurt’s tank top. “Thought we should work up an appetite.”

“That sounds like a perfectly reasonable plan,” Kurt agrees, putting his arms up so Puck can pull the tank top over Kurt’s head, then reaching down to unfasten Puck’s pants. 

“Oh, good.” Puck smirks and lowers his head to Kurt’s nipples, flattening his tongue across one and then the other. Kurt twines his fingers in Puck’s hair, arching his back and letting out a soft whimper. Puck’s hands go to Kurt’s jeans, unfastening them and pushing both jeans and underwear past Kurt’s knees before Puck’s mouth leaves Kurt’s chest. “Turn around, Stud.” 

Kurt turns around, place his hands palms-down on the table. Puck runs his hand down Kurt’s spine and then continues down, brushing over his entrance. There’s a momentary pause before Puck chuckles. 

“Guess what I got for us, Stud?”

“Chocovine?” Kurt giggles. 

“Not yet,” Puck answers. “Maybe better, though.” There’s a click and then one of Puck’s hands dangles a bottle in front of Kurt. A slick finger presses into Kurt at the same time. “Don’t you think?”

Kurt inhales sharply, then breathes, “Better than Jergens, that’s for sure.” He rocks his hips back against Puck’s hand. “I hope you swiped it _all_.”

“Every single bottle they had,” Puck promises, adding a second finger. “Thought we might need it.”

“So smart,” Kurt murmurs. “Butterfly?”

“Yeah, Stud?”

“Inside me now.”

Puck laughs for just a moment, his fingers quickly replaced by his cock. “Better, Stud?” he asks, hands gripping Kurt’s hips. Kurt closes his eyes, his hands pressing against the tabletop, and moans in response. Puck thrusts in hard, his still-slick hand closing around Kurt’s cock, and his mouth on Kurt’s back. “Good.”

Kurt cries out and rolls his hips back. He dimly hears footsteps in the hallway, but it’s not particularly important. Puck’s hips and hand move faster, Puck’s grip tightening on Kurt’s hip. Kurt breathes in short, whiny gasps, and Puck moves his hand from Kurt’s hip, placing it over the back of Kurt’s hand on the table and twining their fingers together. 

Puck seems to thrust even harder, and then he starts nipping at Kurt’s back, not hard enough to break the skin. Kurt bucks underneath Puck and then comes with a high-pitched yelp. Puck pushes in deep and comes, his teeth biting down with more force and his fingers squeezing Kurt’s. He starts peppering soft kisses down Kurt’s back and slowly pulls out as his mouth goes lower and lower. His lips land on Kurt’s entrance and then he starts slowly licking as Kurt shivers underneath him. Puck’s tongue circles Kurt’s entrance and then dips inside him, and Puck’s hands are on Kurt’s ass, gently spreading it apart. 

Kurt gasps again and makes a low noise. He’s still faintly aware that the footsteps never retreated, and that Tina or Finn or both are probably watching them right now, but he realizes he doesn’t really care. Puck’s tongue is on him and inside him, and Kurt feels himself getting hard again. 

Puck’s mouth pulls away, and then his lips are on Kurt’s ear. “Could you fuck her, Stud? For me? She’s been a good girl. I’ll be right here.”

Kurt shudders and he takes a deep, tremulous breath. “Butterfly,” he whispers. 

“You don’t have to, Stud. I’m just asking,” Puck says reassuringly.

“I’ll think about it,” Kurt answers. “For another time. Okay?”

“Okay,” Puck repeats, nodding. “And if you don’t ever, that’s okay, too, Stud.” He kisses Kurt’s ear and straightens just enough to turn Kurt over and pull him up as well, bringing their mouths together. Kurt kisses him back hard, putting his arms around Puck’s neck. Puck reaches between them and pull up Kurt’s underwear and then his jeans, though he leaves Kurt’s tank top and shoulder holster off. “Time to eat,” he murmurs against Kurt’s lips, then raises his head to look at Finn and Tina. “Dinnertime,” he says more loudly, and he gestures at the table and its four chairs.

Tina and Finn sit down at the table silently, Tina’s face flushed and Finn’s eyes still wide and glassy, pupils huge. Puck picks the plates from the counter and sits them on the table, serving Kurt first and Finn last. They eat slowly, everyone using utensils, and after dinner, Puck distributes Tang and vodka to everyone.

“What’s tomorrow’s agenda?” Kurt asks, curling himself into the space under Puck’s arm, the four of them sitting on the living room floor again.

“Harding,” Puck answers. “That place with all the insulated clothes, Tractor Supply, maybe KMart again for trades. Oh, and the liquor store.” He grins at Kurt. 

“Chocovine. Top priority.”

“As it should be,” Puck agrees, nuzzling against the top of Kurt’s head. “Two more days, Stud,” he whispers in Kurt’s ear. “We’ll go find our farm. Drink our Chocovine.”

“We should grow grapes,” Kurt says, closing his eyes. “Do they grow in northern Ohio?”

“I have no idea,” Puck says. “Isn’t there a vineyard west of Toledo? Dunno if they grow the chocolate grapes, though.”

Tina giggles. Finn laughs faintly, too, but a few seconds too slow. Tina reaches out and strokes the back of Finn’s hand, then squeezes it in hers. He gives her a lopsided smile and laughs again. 

“We’re going to split up watch tonight,” Puck announces. “Two hour shifts. Stud, you’re with Tina.” Kurt nods, relieved that Finn will be under Puck’s supervision for his watch, even if it means sleeping his two hours alone. 

“Okay,” Tina says quietly, nodding. Finn looks between Tina and Puck, his eyes darting back and forth, but finally he nods, too. “Are Kurt and I taking the first shift?”

“No, Finn and I will,” Puck decides after a moment’s pause. “Which starts in an hour, so.”

“Come on, Finn,” Tina says, smiling at him. “You could sleep for a little bit before you have watch.” 

Finn nods his head slowly. “Okay, Tee.” It’s the first thing he’s said since his breakdown earlier, and it’s in a strangely normal— _pre_ -apocalypse normal—voice. He stands up and helps pull Tina to her feet, and the two of them disappear into the back bedroom, closing the door behind them.

“I’ll bet you a bag of Oreos that that window’s being opened right now,” Kurt sighs. 

“We were gonna share the bag anyway.” Puck exhales. “C’mon, Stud. Let’s go share that lumpy pillow for a little bit.”

Two hours of sleep at a go isn’t ideal, but Finn at least seems to remain calm throughout the night, and Puck curls up behind Kurt for the last two hours of the night, holding him close. The morning goes quietly, the four of them already falling into a routine of waking, cleaning up, eating, planning. Puck and Tina discuss the order of stores, and Finn keeps trying to swap out his canned peach slices for Kurt’s last half a canned pear any time Kurt looks away, laughing even after Kurt swats at him a few times. The end result is that Kurt’s bowl has his own pears and half of Finn’s peaches, and Finn looks so confused by how this happens that Kurt ruffles his hair and feeds him a bite of pear. 

“New rule: three or less Zombies that don’t notice us get ignored. Groups of eight or more, we come back later.” Puck frowns and looks out the window, seemingly assessing the light. “Sun’s still not up, but I think we should get going.”

Kurt nods his agreement, and the four of them exit the house and pile into the Nav. Their first stop is the liquor store, where Puck cheerfully clears the shelf of Chocovine, also directing them to grab several large bottles of clear grain alcohol for potential medicinal purposes. After the liquor store, they drive further up Harding and hit the H&K Workwear for more boots, some bright neon raincoats, convertible mitten/gloves, and workbelts for them to use on their farm. The next stop is Tractor Supply, where they load up on heavy-duty coats and bibs, long underwear, gardening tools, and seeds. 

“Oh, fuck _yes_!” Puck says triumphantly as they round a corner and he shines the Maglite on a large generator. “Change of plans. We’re going to get that trailer to the side and take this baby.” He actually pets the generator a few times before pushing it towards the front of the store.

Kurt and Tina back the Nav up to the trailer, and once the trailer is hitched up, Finn loads the generator and other supplies into it. They’ve gotten in and out of the stores so quickly, Puck decides they will hit the KMart before they return to the little house and start packing and loading. 

Kurt’s admittedly anxious as they enter the KMart. The look and feel and layout are too much like the Wal-Mart, and while the promise of granola bars and more things to trade sounds great, Kurt really want to get them all back to the house and start preparing to put Lima in their rearview mirror. 

Puck leads the four of them towards the granola bars and hands them out, throwing the remaining five boxes into a cart. “Okay, it seems pretty empty in here, so let’s split up and get gone.” He looks at the three of them for a second, then nods to himself. “Kurt, you stay with Finn. Finn, you carry anything heavy that won’t fit in the cart, okay? And Tina, you’re with me.”

Tina nods and starts to push one of the carts towards the rear of the store. Kurt looks over at Finn and raises his eyebrows. 

“Shall we?”

Finn grins at Kurt. “Can we go down the tape aisle? We don’t have enough tape.”

Kurt shakes his head, but returns Finn’s smile. “Sure, Finn. We’ll get some tape. Doesn’t take up much room.”

“And it’s _useful_ ,” Finn says. “We can use it to label things _and_ fix things. Two uses, right? Like Puck said!”

“Puck does say that,” Kurt agrees. “Come on, we’ll start with batteries and then we’ll go look at the boots.”

Kurt pushes his cart art and Finn trots along behind him, pink Missy gun up and ready while Finn makes suggestions about small items they should toss into the cart. They’re actually all good ideas, and dental floss, bags of rubber bands, packets of safety pins, all the travel sewing kits, and an assortment of scissors (for fabric, paper, and hair) all end up in their cart. They’ve just dumped all the batteries in when a lone zombie comes lurching into the aisle.

“Got it,” Kurt calls, firing a shot that goes low and to the right. “Dammit,” Kurt mutters to himself, and he can see Finn tensing up next to him. 

Kurt puts the second bullet through the zombie’s head, right as Finn screams, “Kurt!” and starts firing down the aisle in the opposite direction. Kurt spins to see three more zombies coming from that direction, still far enough down the aisle to take his time aiming. He fires two shots, Finn also shooting in that direction, and happens to glance back and notice two zombies shuffling into the aisle from the same direction as the first zombie. 

“I’ll get these,” Kurt says. “Take that one.” Finn doesn’t appear to listen, though, and he turns and fires at the two zombies before whipping back to shoot at the single zombie still standing at the far end of the aisle. “Finn! I said take _that_ one!”

“We’re trapped!” Finn screams. “Shit! Shit! We’re trapped!” He sounds and looks utterly panicked, his shots going wild. Kurt drops the two zombies on his side, while the one on Finn’s still staggers back and forth in the aisle, peppered with Finn’s bullets, none of which make it to the head. “Shit!”

“Finn! Calm down!” Kurt fires under Finn’s arm and the last zombie drops. 

“I’m not lying down!” Finn shrieks. “I won’t let us get eaten! They aren’t eating us!” He’s sheet-white and his gun hand is shaking. He wheels slowly and points the pink gun at Kurt. “I won’t let that happen to you, Kurt,” Finn says. He sounds almost rational, but his eyes are crazy. “Nobody’s eating you, I promise!” 

“Finn!” Kurt says, putting his hands up in front of him. “Finn, don’t—” Finn fires and the bullet flies by close enough to Kurt’s head that he can feel the ripple of air. Kurt dives sideways, screaming, “Finn! Finn! Don’t! Don’t, we’re fine!”

There’s the sound of heavy footsteps running, charging down the aisle, and then a solid hit and the thump of a body dropping to the floor. “You hold this _on him_ ,” Puck growls, and Tina whimpers slightly. Then Puck’s hands are on Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him up and running all over his head and torso. “Fuck, Stud, are you—” Puck keeps moving his hands over Kurt, cursing as he pulls him up and looks him over. “Goddammit,” Puck says quietly, pulling Kurt into a tight hug. “You’re okay? You’re okay, right, Stud? You’re okay.” Puck doesn’t release Kurt, just keeps holding him there, pressed against Puck’s chest. “Fuck.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kurt murmurs into Puck’s chest. “He didn’t hurt me.” 

“Fuck,” Puck repeats, his arms tightening even more as he kisses Kurt’s head. “You’re sure you okay?”

Kurt slips his arms around Puck’s waist. “Butterfly, I’m _fine_. I’m okay.”

Puck crashes their mouths together, then puts his lips on Kurt’s ear. “Gonna go back to that house and fuck you and suck you and kiss you, Stud,” he murmurs, then he releases Kurt and turns towards Finn. He stalks across the aisle and swings, his fist connecting with Finn’s jaw. Finn sprawls back against the shelves, knocking one down as he falls, and lies there, his eyes still showing the whites. “What the fucking hell?” Puck screams at him, his boot catching Finn in the ribs. 

Finn exhales a loud “oof” and then curls up in a ball against the shelves, arms around his legs. Puck kicks his leg, then bends over him, using Finn’s shirt to pull him up a little as he takes another swing as his face, then he lets Finn drop back to the floor. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Puck says, sounding disgusted. “Tina, don’t give him back his gun. Stud, you walk behind him.”

“Come on, Finn,” Tina says quietly, the pink gun in her hands. Finn rises unsteadily to his feet, looking around like he’s not sure where he is. 

“Tee?” Finn says, holding his hand to his jaw where Puck hit him. 

“Let’s go load things,” she replies. “Time to leave.”

Finn nods his head slowly, but still looks confused and wild-eyed. He puts his hand on the handle of Tina’s cart and when she starts walking, he walks alongside her placidly, Kurt trailing behind them, gun drawn. Puck walks with his rifle up, looking like he’s hoping he’ll encounter a zombie between there and the Nav. 

Puck gets his wish when three zombies come springing across the parking lot in their direction. “Got ‘em,” Puck says evenly, and he squeezes off three shots, one right after another. The zombies drop, all three shots hitting the face, and Puck turns towards the Nav. “Like I said, let’s go.”

They load the supplies silently and Puck waits until they’re all in their seats before he gets in and shuts his door. “Straight back to the house?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Please,” Puck nods, and he props the rifle up, unholstering his handgun and pointing out the window, his other hand resting on Kurt’s leg. 

Kurt cuts up and across a few streets to skirt a large swarm moving in the direction of the KMart, but they still make it back to the house in fairly short order. “Send them in?” Kurt says, keeping his voice low. 

Puck nods, holstering the handgun, then turns slightly in his seat. “Go get in the house,” he says to Tina and Finn. “Go in the bedroom. We’ll get you when it’s time for lunch.”

Tina nods hurriedly and climbs out of the Nav, Finn following behind her. Once they’re in the house, Kurt reaches out and drags his knuckles along Puck’s cut. “We need to get out of this town, and fast,” he says. 

“We’re going to have to do all the packing,” Puck says. “But you’re right.” He puts his hand on the back of Kurt’s head and pulls him close, then kisses him almost harshly. Kurt slides his hand up into Puck’s hair, burying his fingers in it. Puck’s face is rough against Kurt, and Kurt pulls his mouth from Puck’s, licking the stubble on his chin and cheek before kissing him again. 

Puck removes his hand from Kurt’s hair, and then he hoists Kurt up, and Kurt wraps his legs around Puck’s waist and his arms around Puck’s neck. Puck carries Kurt the short distance into the bedroom and then leans over the bed until Kurt’s back is against the mattress. “Don’t leave me, Stud,” Puck murmurs, biting at Kurt’s neck. 

“Never,” Kurt promises. He grabs Puck’s shirt and starts pulling it up and over Puck’s head. “Never, Butterfly. Not ever leaving you.”

Puck doesn’t reply, just pushes up the fabric of Kurt’s shirt enough to expose most of Kurt’s chest, and he starts licking and nipping at the bare skin while his fingers work on Kurt’s jeans. He pushes Kurt’s jeans and underwear out of the way and takes Kurt’s cock in his mouth, looking up at Kurt for a moment before his eyes close. 

Kurt rests one hand on the back of Puck’s head, fingertips digging in, his other hand reaching for the line of Puck’s jaw, stroking it with his thumb. “So good,” Kurt murmurs. “So fucking good.”

Puck’s mouth moves a little faster, his nose dipping closer to Kurt’s skin, and Puck’s hand reaches between them, sliding over Kurt’s balls almost gently. He hums for a moment, then his tongue flicks over the tip of Kurt’s cock, and Puck’s other hand pinches Kurt’s right nipple. Kurt cries out, arching up off the bed. His hand tightens in Puck’s hair, his hips almost snapping upward. 

The hand on Kurt’s balls moves to the base of Kurt’s cock, moving in rhythm with Puck’s mouth, and Puck’s hand moves to Kurt’s left nipple, still pinching hard. Kurt lets out a series of short, staccato cries, pulling at Puck’s hair, and then he comes. Puck licks at Kurt until Kurt is still, then kisses up Kurt’s chest, over the still-clipped holster, and up to Kurt’s lips. Puck runs his tongue over Kurt’s lips and pushes his tongue into Kurt’s mouth, kissing him slowly. 

Kurt pushes his jeans down the rest of the way, then kicks them off onto the floor, his hands moving to unfasten Puck’s pants. When they’re unzipped, Kurt slides them over Puck’s hips as far as he can reach, then whines, “Off!”

Puck chuckles and removes the rest of his clothes. “Happy now, Stud? Now that you got me all naked?”

“Hmm. I think I have to say... yes. Definitely yes.” Kurt runs his fingertips down Puck’s back and over the curve of his ass. 

“Good.” Puck leans back over Kurt, kissing his neck. “Do you want to fuck me, Stud?”

Kurt’s fingernails rake down Puck’s back, and he says, “Oh, _fuck_ , yes, I do.”

Puck grins and then rolls them over. “Excellent.”

Kurt presses a gentle kiss to Puck’s lips, then kisses down his throat and across his collar bone, down his left arm, before moving to the center of Puck’s chest. He trails kisses down Puck’s stomach, running his tongue over Puck’s cock before moving back up, finishing with a deep kiss to Puck’s lips. 

He leans across Puck to the small bedside table, picking up the bottle of lube. “You know, seems a little unfair,” Kurt huffs.

“Huh?” Puck looks confused. 

“Well, you don’t get the Jergens experience,” Kurt says, grinning. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out on anything.”

Puck laughs. “We can pick some up at Costco if I need that particular experience. Can _I_ have Natural Glow or whatever, though?”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it,” Kurt says, leaning over and planting a kiss on Puck’s hip. 

“Wait, does that mean I’d have a shining ass?”

Kurt giggles and pours some of the lube into his hand. “That might call the wrong kind of attention to you, it’s true. Maybe we’ll skip the Natural Glow.” 

“Does sound safer, maybe,” Puck says wryly. Kurt nods his agreement and then carefully circles Puck’s entrance with one slick finger, watching Puck’s face relax into a slight smile. Kurt slowly pushes his finger inside Puck, wrapping his other hand around Puck’s cock. Puck shifts, lifting his hips slightly and moving towards Kurt just enough for Kurt’s finger to slip further in.

Kurt pulls his finger out slightly, then pushes it in deeper, moving his hand on Puck’s cock in time with it. Kurt slides his finger out and back in a few times, then adds a second finger, his eyes still on Puck’s. Puck tilts his hips up, the expression on his face changing to a wider grin. 

“Enjoying yourself, Butterfly?” Kurt asks, his hands still moving on and inside Puck. 

“Yep,” Puck responds, his grin growing even wider. “Get inside me, Stud.”

Kurt withdraws his fingers and pours more lube into his hands before putting one hand on his own cock, getting himself slick. He moves Puck’s legs back and presses against Puck’s entrance, slowly pushing inside, his other hand returning to Puck’s cock. “Like this?”

“More,” Puck says, rocking his hips towards Kurt. “ _Fuck_ me.”

Kurt moves forward hard and fast, until he’s completely inside Puck, curling a hand around Puck’s thigh while the other hand slides up and down on Puck’s cock. Kurt closes his eyes and breathes, feeling Puck around him, then he starts moving again, pulling almost out and then slamming back in. 

“Look at me,” Puck demands, one hand squeezing on Kurt’s hip. “Look at me.”

Kurt opens his eyes and locks them on Puck’s eyes, not breaking eye contact as he starts moving faster, pushing deeper inside Puck. He tightens his hand on Puck’s cock, moving in time to his thrusts. Puck meets each thrust, his fingers digging into Kurt’s skin with a bit more force, his lips parted as his breathing gets faster.

Kurt leans forward, moving Puck’s legs further back, and without slowing his movements, reaches with the hand not on Puck’s cock and runs his fingertips down the cut on Puck’s arm. Puck lets out a low cry, pushing up into Kurt’s hand as he comes, his eyes drifting shut. Kurt starts coming seconds behind him, slamming forward one more time before falling forward onto Puck’s chest, arms wrapping around Puck.

Puck rubs his cheek against Kurt’s head. “Told you you were hung,” he whispers smugly after a moment. Kurt starts to giggle, burying his face in Puck’s chest. After a few more giggles, though, he raises his head to look Puck in the face again.

“Please don’t hurt him anymore,” Kurt asks, softly. “We’ll figure out what to do with him, but please don’t hurt him. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing half the time now.”

“I know.” Puck sighs. “I don’t think he remembered why his jaw hurt. Or why I was pissed. But I think he’s going to have to go without a gun for awhile.”

Kurt nods. “You’re right. I don’t think he remembered and he definitely doesn’t need to have a gun. He’s... sometimes he seems so normal, and then sometimes he’s crazy, and sometimes he’s...”

“Like a little kid,” Puck finishes softly. “I know, Stud. We’ll have time this winter to figure it out, okay?”

“Okay, Butterfly. Thank you.” Kurt brushes his lips against Puck’s. “Thank you for taking care of all of us.”

“You’re my pack,” Puck says firmly. 

Kurt giggles again at the word choice. “Yes, we’re oh-so-wolflike. Me, especially.”

“Territorial. Fierce. Protect what’s yours. Badass. Nope, you’re nothing like a wolf, Stud.”

“Hmm. Point.” Kurt wraps his arms around Puck again, then sighs. “We should eat, and I suppose you need to talk to Finn, or to Tina _about_ Finn, depending on whether he’s actually Finn again or if he’s still a manbaby.”

“Probably both regardless,” Puck acknowledges, then kisses Kurt’s forehead. “In a minute.”

  


**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #18: Everyone is broken.**

There's no way to survive the apocalypse and be sane, as 'sane' was defined Before. It doesn't mean that they're mentally ill, necessarily, because they're functioning okay, most of the time, but they're broken, in different ways. 

Tina wasn't claustrophobic before. Puck's certain of this, as is Kurt. It's such a simple word, but they're going to have to consider it, to make accommodations because of it. Finn's probably the most broken of all, and Puck doesn't know what the label is, but he knows there is one, and when they get to the farm, he and Kurt will read the books Kurt grabbed at Barnes & Noble. They can always get more books at another bookstore, once they give whatever it is a name. 

As for Puck himself, if someone showed up and told him they could rewind everything, and go back to the day before it all started, and none of it would happen—he'd tell them no. Especially if he wouldn't remember any of it. It's selfish, but he'd rather let everyone stay dead than give up his Stud. When he thinks it out, Puck knows it's pretty fucked up. If something had happened to Kurt, Puck would have walked out into that swarm without any weapon. The excursion in KMart felt off as soon as they split up and he was out of Kurt's sight. 

They won't do that again. There's no reason for Kurt to be out of sight again, ever.

  



	16. Chapter 16

Kurt’s setting out their lunch of canned salmon, applesauce, and granola bars, when Puck goes to the back bedroom, opens the door, and announces that lunch is ready. Tina and Finn appear after another minute, Tina in jeans and a sports bra and Finn following behind her in just a pair of boxers, still looking confused and now anxious as well. 

Puck sits down in his chair, moves Kurt’s plate beside his own, and then pulls Kurt into his lap. Once Kurt’s comfortable, Puck looks at Finn and Tina. “Sit down.”

Finn watches Tina sit, and then pulls out his chair and sits down after she does, like he had to observe her do it before he could figure it out himself. Once he’s seated, he keeps glancing furtively at Puck, then looking away again.

“Tina,” Puck says after he’s eaten half of his applesauce. “Finn’s not going to have a gun on him while we’re traveling. You don’t let him use yours. He’ll drive. You shoot.” Tina nods, eyes on her plate. “Both of you,” Puck continues, “I told you that you weren’t going to get eaten. I need both of you to believe it. _I will not let either of you be eaten._ Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Tina whispers, nodding again. Finn watches Tina nod and then does the same. 

“What did I say, Finn?” Puck asks, his tone slightly more gentle.

“We won’t get eaten,” Finn says, still nodding his head slowly. “You won’t let us get eaten, understood?”

“Do you need to worry about it again? Ever again?” Puck asks Finn, then glances at Tina as he finishes the sentence. Finn’s eyes dart to Tina again, but she doesn’t respond, so Finn looks back at Puck.

“No?” Finn answers, his tone indicating he hopes he has the answer right, but isn’t sure he does. 

“Exactly. You don’t worry about getting eaten anymore. At all. It’s not something you have to worry about anymore, Finn.”

“See, Finn?” Tina says quietly. “We don’t have to think about that now.”

Finn’s whole body relaxes and a sweet, bright smile spreads across his face. “Okay, Tee. I see.”

“Good,” Puck says, nodding a little. “If you need something, Finn, I want you to tell me, okay?” Finn tilts his head to the side and shakes it slightly, looking puzzled, but the smile doesn’t fade. Puck purses his lips, then continues. “If you need something to eat, or you’re upset, or you’re thirsty, or tired. Or you need us to find a safe place to use the bathroom. If you need Tina to talk to you, or Kurt, or me. Okay?”

Finn’s smile widens and he nods his head. “Okay, Puck.”

“Good!” Puck returns the smile and picks his spoon back up. “Eat all of your food so you won’t get hungry later.” 

Finn nods his head again and picks up his own spoon, starting to eat, and Kurt reaches over and pats Finn on the arm. “Thank you for wanting me to be safe, Finn,” Kurt says softly. “You’re a good brother.”

Finn beams at Kurt, then says, “Now Puck will do it. We’ll all be safe. Eat all your food so you aren’t hungry later!”

“I’ll do that, Finn, thank you,” Kurt answers. 

“After we eat, we need to bring most of our stuff into the living room so we can sort through it,” Puck informs them. “After you help us bring it in, Tina, Finn, you two can take a nap, okay?”

Finn nods his head vigorously, without looking at Tina first to check. Tina nods as well, scraping the last of her food off her plate and picking up her granola bar. Puck smiles again at both of them, running his thumb down Kurt’s left arm repeatedly. Kurt sighs happily and leans back against Puck, considering the strange little family they’ve managed to assemble and how different his definition of ‘family’ is from what it was two weeks ago. His definition of just about everything is different from two weeks ago, though, so this makes as much sense, if not more, as anything. 

After lunch, they start bringing in everything from both vehicles, except the water, and Tina and Finn pull their bags into the living room. Tina brings her box of strangely assorted items, and Finn carefully sets his pink bandana and the folded up square of paper that Kurt recognizes as his note on top of Tina’s box. 

“You can keep those on you, Finn,” Puck says quietly. Finn picks the note and the bandana back up, holding the note tightly in his hand. “And now you can take a nap, okay? Tina’s going to lie down with you.”

Finn nods. “Okay. I’m tired.” 

Kurt ruffles Finn’s hair and gives him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Get some rest, Finny.”

Finn and Tina walk into the back bedroom and close the door behind them. Kurt glances around the living room; most of the floor is covered in bags, boxes, cans, and other supplies they’ve accumulated over the past week and a half. 

“Okay, Butterfly,” Kurt says. “What stays, what goes, and what is going to be the source of weeping when you tell the owner it’s not coming?”

“I don’t think they’re going to be happy with me going through their clothes,” Puck answers. “And Tina’s suitcase itself. And we have to go through the food again.” He glares at a few cans of peas sitting on top of a pile of food. “I’m _still_ not taking peas.”

“And yet, the peas so very much seem to want to come with us,” Kurt says. “They keep cropping up. Ubiquitous peas.”

“They can go with dinner tonight,” Puck concedes. “That way they aren’t going to waste or taking up room in the Nav.” He pulls Finn’s bag towards him first. “I can’t imagine Finn brought impractical clothes, because he’d have to own them, but let’s find out.”

Puck dumps the contents of Finn’s duffel back on the floor. Nothing’s folded or put in neatly, and the pile of wrinkled clothes is mainly t-shirts, socks, underwear, a couple pairs of jeans, a few long-sleeve shirts, and Finn’s letterman jacket.

“I have a bad feeling about that,” Puck says slowly, pointing at the letterman jacket. 

Kurt nods. “I can’t imagine Finn needs a constant reminder of McKinley, football, or any of the other things that aren’t there anymore, no.” He picks up the jacket and balls it up, setting it to the side. “We’ll put something over it so he doesn’t see it at dinner.”

“Honestly, we may need to take the pile of things we aren’t taking and put it somewhere else,” Puck sighs, poking at Finn’s clothes. “Can you fold these up and I’ll start on Tina’s suitcase? If there’s enough room, we’ll put her clothes in with his.”

“If there’s more than fits in his bag, we can put the off-season things somewhere else,” Kurt suggests, as he starts to fold Finn’s clothes. “He’s going to need more sweaters. The big lug packed like it’s going to be in the 80s for the rest of his life.”

“We’ll look for some sweaters in the farmhouses on the way.” Puck shrugs. “I only owned one. But I did bring it.”

“Maybe we can trade for something at Winchesters. Finn’s probably more trucker-sized than farmer-sized.” Kurt giggles. “We’ll have to learn to knit just to keep him in clothes.”

“ _He_ can learn to knit,” Puck jokes. “I’m going to be milking the damn cow.”

“Does this mean I’m butchering the chickens?” Kurt inspects his nails and buffs them dramatically on his shirt. “I suppose if that’s the only career option left me...”

Puck grins. “You can help me plant all those damn seeds.”

“Oh good, then we can put Tina on chicken duty!”

“She might think we’re punishing her.” Puck pushes a pile of clothes towards the corner where the letterman jacket is, as well as the suitcase. “She brought a pair of sandals. And two dresses.”

“Maybe hang on to one of the dresses?” Kurt suggests. “Are pretty girls useful? She can be our token pretty girl if we ever need one.”

Puck laughs. “Okay. Pick one of them out, then.” Kurt feels the fabric of both dresses and discards the poly-blend one, rolling the other up tightly and shoving it down the side of Finn’s duffel bag. Puck sorts out all the off-season clothes into one pile, including his own and Kurt’s, and Kurt folds everything neatly. The clothing takes longer than Kurt would have expected, but there’s still plenty of daylight for the rest of the sorting. 

Puck sorts through the weapons and ammunition, the food, and all the supplies they’ve accumulated along the way, occasionally telling Kurt to remember something they need to look for in trade or at Costco in Toledo. Finally, all that’s left is Tina’s box of assorted knickknacks. 

“What is all of this?” Kurt asks, as the two of them sit down with the box. “A CD and some photographs?”

“It’s...” Puck frowns and picks up the first photograph. “That’s from Mike’s room. Before Sam left, we were teasing him about it.”

Kurt touches an earring that’s resting against the CD. “That’s one of Mercedes’ earrings.” 

Puck folds back the last flap. “And a pompom,” he says flatly. “And one of Artie’s vests. Stud, I think.” He stops. “She has a memorial in a box.”

Kurt sees something glinting at the bottom of the box and reaches in for it, fishing around until his fingers brush against a thin gold chain. When he picks it up, he sees the tiny gold star dangling from it. The chain itself is flecked with dried blood. “Butterfly,” Kurt says quietly. “This needs to go.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Puck agrees, nodding. “Put it with the Valium? Or just...bury it somewhere?”

“Feels wrong to just toss it, but he does _not_ need to stumble across this. There’s... it’s still got blood on it.”

“Valium, then,” Puck decides. Kurt nods and pulls the bottle of Valium from the pocket of Puck’s bag, putting the necklace inside and then tucking the bottle away again. 

“What do we do with the rest of this?” Kurt asks. 

Puck rubs his hand over his face for a moment. “Dwelling on it doesn’t do any of us any good, but.” He shrugs. “Move it to a smaller bag and we’ll bring it out once a year.”

“Like Memorial Day for normal life,” Kurt agrees. 

“Z-Day,” Puck snorts. “But yeah.” He leans his head back on the recliner. “We’ve got, what, an hour or so before dinner?”

“Thereabouts. Do you want me to get Tina and Finn to help us load?”

“We need to at least get rid of those things and load the weapons first.”

“Stuff them in the coat closet? Nothing in there’s usable, so no reason for them to look,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Puck climbs to his feet and offers Kurt a hand. “Ready, Stud?”

“Lead on, Butterfly.”

They end up loading the Nav, loading and locking up the extra weapons in the toolbox of Finn’s truck (with their own padlock, just in case), and filling the trailer before they go in to wake up Finn and Tina. Once again, Finn is naked and sprawled over Tina like a blanket or shield, and Kurt touches Tina’s arm to wake her. 

“Time to load the truck,” Kurt says softly. “Wake Finn up.”

“Mmm, okay,” Tina mumbles as she slowly moves out from under Finn and starts whispering in his ear. “Thanks, Kurt.”

Finn startles slightly and he takes a gasping breath like he’s surfacing from underwater, but there’s no screaming, and when he sits up he seems a little more with it than he was earlier. The smile he gives Kurt is closer to his old lopsided grin and he seems a little surprised when he looks down at himself.

“I’m naked.” 

“Yes, well. That happens,” Kurt assures him. “Clothes on, time to load the truck.” 

When Tina and Finn are dressed, the four of them quickly load the last of the supplies and gear into the truck, then they have a comparatively huge—if heavy on zucchini and canned peas—dinner. After dinner, Puck goes on a mini-tirade about body lice and PBS specials about hygiene, then instructs everyone to shower. Tina leads Finn into the bathroom with her, and they both emerge cleaner than they’ve been since Puck and Kurt found them, which makes Puck happy.

“We’re getting out of here before dawn,” Puck says. “Go to sleep. No fucking, okay?” He looks at Kurt and grins. “Okay, Stud?”

“Got it,” Kurt agrees. 

“Okay,” Tina says, nodding and taking Finn’s hand. “Just sleeping.”

After they’ve disappeared into the back bedroom, Kurt asks, “Do you want me to take first watch?”

“Okay.” Puck steps behind Kurt and wraps his arms around him, sucking at the skin just above the top edge of the cut on Kurt’s arm. “If the first two shifts are like the last two nights, we’ll just sleep after that.”

Kurt leans his head back against Puck’s shoulder and sighs. “Okay, Butterfly. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Puck runs his hand through Kurt’s hair and kisses his cheek, then straightens and releases Kurt, walking into the bedroom. “Don’t be stupid and take more than two hours,” he adds over his shoulder.

“Stupid? Me?” Kurt mutters to himself as he walks into the living room and sits in the recliner, rifle across his lap. “Never.”

Kurt’s shift passes quietly, if slowly, and he and Puck trade off shifts a few times before sleeping the last couple of hours together. 

Puck rolls out of bed first, pulling on his clothes and then heading towards Finn and Tina to wake them up. “Make sure we didn’t leave anything?” he asks Kurt, gesturing around the room. 

Kurt nods and looks under and around the bed, giving the drawers and bookshelf one more look for anything useful. Everything in the room is too shabby (clothes) or too frivolous (comic books), and the space is so small that even a thorough check only takes a few minutes, and Kurt gives Puck a thumbs up.

Puck has a rifle and shotgun set out for each of them, and Kurt clips on his chest harness and his belt, shouldering the rifle and holding the shotgun. “Everything’s ready,” Kurt says. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Puck says, handing an apple to each of them. “Tina, there’s extra ammo for both of your guns in the truck. Finn, stay behind us. If we get separated, lean on the horn. We’re going to stop in Columbus Grove for a trailer for the truck. We’ll eat more there, depending on the time and how many Zombies. Got it?” He looks at each of them in turn, waiting for a nod before moving to the next person. When Finn’s nodded, Puck leads them out the back door, still locking it behind them.

Kurt climbs into the Nav’s driver’s seat and starts the engine. “I’m glad we’re getting out of here so early. Hoping Finn’s driving skills are up to par this morning. He seems better today, I think?”

“Yeah, he does.” Puck looks out the window and shakes his head. “I swear, every time we go by that house, I think I see movement. They’re not going to last much longer.”

“Not everybody can be an Asshole,” Kurt says. They roll slowly by Robb, weaving between cars. Kurt keeps looking in his sideview mirror to check that Finn’s following close behind. Robb and the streets around it are empty, but three blocks past, Puck swears loudly.

“We’ve got company, Stud,” he says almost grimly, rolling his window down an inch further and pointing the rifle out. He peers into the mirror on his side and nods. “Tina looks ready. Just going to have to shoot through.”

“Shit,” Kurt mutters, glancing in the sideview mirror again. “Eyes on the road, Finn.” 

A large swarm of zombies comes from the parking lot outside the bowling alley, and Kurt steps on the gas, Puck firing out the window. Kurt can hear another volley of shots from behind them, but Finn keeps the truck directly behind the Nav. A group of five zombies in matching hot pink dresses, trailed by another in a ripped and blood-stained wedding gown, sprint into the road.

Puck pulls out his handgun, the rifle probably in need of reloading, and takes out each of the hot pink-clad zombies. “Always a bridesmaid,” he comments, reaching in the console and quickly re-loading the rifle. 

Kurt swerves the Nav sharply to the right, running over the bridal-gowned zombie. “Never a bride,” Kurt finishes, then shakes his head. “The apocalypse has really made us cheesy, Butterfly. This isn’t good.”

Puck laughs as he brings up the reloaded rifle again. “There are worse fates, Stud, but we’ll work on that.”

Puck returns to shooting out the window, and Kurt speeds up the Nav a little more. Soon, both Nav and truck are leaving the swarm behind them. About a mile further down the road, Kurt looks at the sign on the side of the road and starts to laugh.

“Now leaving Lima, Ohio,” Kurt reads. “Thank-fucking-god.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Puck agrees. 

The drive to Columbus Grove is uneventful, and they eat a breakfast of beef jerky, raisins, and sunflower seeds, and hitch a second trailer at the Sunoco. Despite the swarm leaving Lima, Finn is laughing and as close to normal as anyone gets in the apocalypse, and seems particularly thrilled by the blue Gatorade from the Sunoco. 

“If you have to have warm Gatorade, blue is the best to have warm,” Finn explains. “The yellow just tastes like sweat when it’s warm.”

“That’s... disgusting, actually,” Kurt says, ruffling Finn’s hair as he stands. “But good to know.”

They take the next part of the drive slow, making fairly frequent stops to check houses, liberate vegetables from gardens, and they roll into Ottawa a little after nine. Kurt’s glad they don’t stop there, because the memory of that zombie almost getting Puck is enough to make the town personally offensive to Kurt. 

Puck keeps them at the slow pace through Ottawa and into the next town, where he waves Kurt into the fire station parking lot. Finn pulls up beside them and rolls down his window, looking excited.

“Are we getting a fire truck?” he asks Puck.

Puck looks at him incredulously and then starts to laugh. “Just fire extinguishers. Sorry. Fire trucks have worse gas mileage than Stud’s baby here.”

“Too bad,” Finn sighs. “I wanted to try out the sirens. Maybe next time.”

After Puck comes back with fire extinguishers, they continue through Leipsic, making the turn onto 109. Puck directs Kurt to stop again, this time at an old house with a sign declaring it the Leipsic Public Library. Kurt looks at Puck questioningly.

“You only found, what, two or three books about psychology?” Puck points out. “And we have the trailer now. We’ll leave Finn and Tina out here and see what we can find. And Finn used to love those sports books. Maybe next time...” he trails off and shrugs.

“Better to have some things to try, at least, when he’s like that,” Kurt agrees. “There’s going to be a next time. Doesn’t do any of us any good to pretend otherwise.”

“No. Once we get settled, we’ll talk to him about it, even, but for now.” Puck shrugs again and climbs out of the Nav, instructing Tina and Finn to keep watch, and for Finn to lean on the horn if any zombies appear. 

The library turns out to be a great idea, after Kurt puts a bullet through the head of a elderly zombie librarian. Along with some older books on mental health and psychology, they find a book on backyard farming, one on organic gardening, an assortment of the sports books for Finn, and books on various crafts and projects that might be useful once they’re settled. Kurt runs his fingers over a back issue of _Vogue_ and sighs. 

“Once we get settled for the winter, we’ll find some kind of fabric place or something,” Puck says when he notices Kurt looking at it. “Raid one of those historic sites for an old sewing machine.”

“I suppose that’s something,” Kurt says wistfully. 

“The latest in apocalyptic fashion, Stud,” Puck teases. “You can trade with the other Assholes, build yourself a label.”

“Have you seen me lately?” Kurt asks, putting out his arms so Puck can take in the whole jeans, black tank top, and gun holster ensemble. “I’m not sure I have a lot of credibility at the moment.”

“You look hot and you’re alive,” Puck says with a grin, wrapping his arms under Kurt’s outstretched ones. “You’d better pick those books up before they start to wonder what happened to us, ‘cause I’ll be fucking you across that table.” He presses their lips together and then releases Kurt, still grinning. 

“That would be terrible,” Kurt agrees, picking up the books. “On the road again.”

They drive until four, making stops for raiding houses and gardens, and when they stop in Malinta, Tina looks harried. 

“What’s up, Tina?” Puck asks her quietly. 

“He’s...antsy? Lots of questions, too much thinking.” She sighs. “You were right to keep him away from the guns. He might need less time on the road tomorrow.”

“Oh, Finn,” Kurt sighs, walking over to where Finn is standing by the truck. Kurt can hear Finn muttering to himself under his breath, and Kurt slowly puts a hand on Finn’s arm. “Feeling tired?”

Finn startles a little, and his eyes are a little glassy when he looks up at Kurt, but he takes a deep breath and the crazy look fades a little. “Yeah, feeling sorta tired,” Finn says. “Worrying again.”

Kurt rests his head against Finn’s shoulder and rubs a small circle on his back. “You’re not supposed to worry, Finn, remember? That’s Puck’s job now. You just have to drive the truck and talk to Tina.”

Finn’s shoulders relax slightly and he nods, but he still shifts anxiously from foot to foot. “I know. I know,” he says. 

Kurt watches Tina and Puck enter the Kwik Stop building, guns raised, so Kurt raises his voice to keep Finn’s attention. “We got some good books at the library. I got one about chickens.”

“Eating them?” Finn asks. “Or cooking them?”

“ _Raising_ ,” Kurt explains, laughing. “We’ll have to raise them before there’s any cooking or eating.”

“Good. Yeah. Raising chickens, that’ll give us something to do, right?” Finn smiles faintly at Kurt. Kurt makes a few more circles on Finn’s back, then Puck and Tina emerge from the building.

“It’s clear,” Puck announces. “Not sure there’s anything left in this whole town or village or whatever it is.” He looks at Kurt and then Finn. “Finn, come upstairs with me. Stud, you help Tina go through the food down here.”

Kurt and Puck exchange another brief look, and Kurt pats Finn on the back. “Go on, Finn,” he says, giving him a gentle push forward, and Finn follows Puck back into the building. “Tina? Shall we?”

Tina nods. “I saw a whole display of beef jerky!” she says to Kurt. “And more of that milk that we don’t have to refrigerate.”

“Good. Puck will be very happy about that,” Kurt tells her. “Let’s see if we can find some almonds. We have peanuts and walnuts, but a variety would be nice.”

“Walnuts taste better _in_ things,” Tina agrees, a little sadly. “I like those praline pecans, though.”

“Finn did a very good job clearing out the nut shelf at Ray,” Kurt says. “That was smart.”

Tina nods and stops in front of a shelf. “It was! I’m guessing Puck wants the nuts for the protein?”

“Protein and omega 3 fatty acids,” Kurt says, though Puck hasn’t actually specifically mentioned omega 3s. “He’s very concerned with us not getting nutritional deficiencies, which is a good thing.”

“I don’t want my hair to fall out or anything!” Tina agrees with a little shudder. “Finn just can’t always remember he doesn’t have to worry,” she says more quietly, looking down at the floor. 

Kurt puts his arm around Tina’s shoulders briefly and squeezes. “We’re all still new at this. Most people can’t learn things the first time. Puck will help him remember, and when Finn forgets, Puck will remind him.”

Tina seems reassured by Kurt’s answer, and the two of them continue sorting through the shelves. After about twenty minutes, Puck’s voice calls down the stairs.

“C’mere, Stud,” he says, his voice a little strained. 

Kurt turns to Tina and says, “Why don’t you bring a drink and a snack outside? You can sit in one of those chairs with the rifle, and we’ll hear the shots if anything happens.”

Tina’s face brightens. “Okay! I’m going to have a Snickers bar,” she says, giggling a little. “And a warm Mountain Dew.” She grabs the two named items and pushes open the door, settling in the white plastic chair with a pleased look on her face. 

Kurt sprints up the stairs and finds Puck standing in the doorway at the top. He’s naked, leaning to one side, with his palm pressed against his cock. Kurt giggles when he sees Puck. 

“Well, goodness. You are in a state, aren’t you?” Kurt says, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. 

“Shut up,” Puck growls, grabbing Kurt’s wrist and pulling Kurt against him. “Or we’re not going to make it to a bed.”

After they roll out of bed over an hour later, Kurt quietly walks into the other bedroom, where Finn is sound asleep, face down on the bed. Kurt sits down next to him and leans over, talking quietly. “Finn? Finn, we’re going to eat dinner now. Puck needs us to get up and eat a good dinner.” 

Finn stirs and stretches, and Kurt rests his hand on Finn’s back, rubbing in a slow circle until Finn sits up. “It’s time for dinner?”

“Puck’s already working on it,” Kurt says, running a hand through Finn’s hair. “You have a good nap?”

“Yeah, I feel a lot better,” Finn answers. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think it’s salad, pretzels, and those berries we picked earlier. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“That does! Where’d Tee go?” Finn asks, looking around. 

“She’s outside. Would you like to go get her and tell her you’re feeling better now?” Kurt asks him. 

“I’m naked again,” Finn says.

“Yes, that’s true. You are. Puck brought you some fresh clothes, though, and they’re just right in the other room,” Kurt explains. “Go and get your clothes and put them on, then you can go get Tina.”

Finn grabs Kurt in a tight hug. “Thanks, Kurt!” 

After Finn releases him, Kurt stands up and gives him a kiss on the forehead. “Okay, go get dressed now. No naked diners at Puck’s table.”

Kurt makes sure Finn is actually dressed before going down to find Tina, then he walks into the kitchen to help Puck finish preparing the dinner. “Finn seems to be feeling better,” Kurt says. 

Puck nods. “Good. Can you break up Finn’s pretzels and put them on his salad?”

“Ooh, is that the flavored salmon?” Kurt asks, as he starts breaking up the pretzels and putting them on top of the salad. 

“Lemon dill. I thought that went better with the tomatoes than the teriyaki one.”

“No, teriyaki and tomatoes probably don’t complement each other well,” Kurt agrees. 

“And almost all of those berries were still good, plus the grapes.” Puck grins. “Maybe we can have that vineyard after all.”

“We should have stolen some books on wine-making while we were at the library,” Kurt muses. “Maybe we’ll make another stop in Toledo, see if we can find a how-to guide.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Puck agrees. 

Kurt hears Tina and Finn clomping up the stairs, and Finn announces, a huge grin on his face, “Look! I found Tee!”

“Good job,” Puck says, smiling briefly. “Dinner’s ready. See anything out there, Tina?”

Tina shakes her head, then stops. “Well, some geese flew south about an hour ago, but they weren’t flying too high.”

“That means it’s going to be a warm winter,” Finn says, sounding very serious. “So that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, that is,” Puck nods. “We’ll take whatever luck we get. Maybe it means some of the gardens will have food longer this fall, too.”

It’s quite possibly the most upbeat dinner they’ve had since the onset of the apocalypse. Finn is thrilled about the pretzels on his salad, Tina seems bolstered by her time outside and by Finn’s good spirits, and Kurt sits in Puck’s lap and enjoys the flavored salmon. They send Tina to bed with Finn and go downstairs to start watch. 

Around three in the morning, Puck holds up a hand and moves deeper into the shadow. A moment later, a minivan with Michigan plates rattles southward through town without even slowing, and after another minute, Puck walks to the door and peers after it. “Guess that’s one strategy,” Puck concedes. “Keep moving all night.”

Kurt can tell that Puck thinks it’s an inferior strategy, and Kurt agrees. “Harder to get enough sleep during the day, not to mention the food issue.”

“I mean, you could wake up to eat during the day?” Puck shakes his head. “Sleep when it’s light out just doesn’t work as well.”

“They could be switching out drivers, maybe. Still not sure that’s a good plan.”

“No, not this late at night,” Puck agrees. “If nothing else happens in the next thirty minutes, let’s go to bed.”

“Now _that_ is a plan, Butterfly.”

Puck grins. “And Winchesters tomorrow, so we can sleep in, Stud.”

They do sleep in and they aren’t on the road until almost ten. They stop at a couple of farmhouses as they continue their northward trek, and still manage to arrive at Winchesters by noon. 

“Well, holy shit,” Puck says as they drive up, then turns to Kurt and grins. “Guess they’ve gotten the word out.”

Kurt laughs and takes in the impressive scene that is Winchesters, which seems to be fast becoming a compound. Both the restaurant/gas station area and the grain silos across the street are circled by trailers that have been unhitched from 18-wheelers, creating a barricade with one entrance. 

“Holy shit is right,” Kurt agrees. “We’ll have to keep an eye on Tina.”

Kurt drives up to the front of the saloon and parks, Finn pulling into a spot next to him. Finn is wide-eyed, and when he gets out of the truck he says, “I thought you said this was a restaurant!”

“It is,” Puck says. “They’ve just fortified it a bit.”

“The assholes are back!” comes a female voice from the front of restaurant. “And you’ve got more assholes with you!”

“Yep!” Puck calls back. “Rest of the pack.” Puck slings his arm around Kurt and motions for Finn and Tina to follow them. “You’ve expanded!”

“Just a bit, yes!” the waitress from before says. “Lots of folks came and lots of folks stayed, and it’s working out pretty great for us so far.”

“We brought a few things, thought we’d see about some trading, maybe,” Puck says. “How many people here now?”

“Anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, depending on the day,” she says, leading them in. “I’m Jody, by the way. I know most of us weren’t doing introduction before, but...” She shrugs. “Starting to feel better about everybody’s odds.”

“Yep,” Puck agrees, nodding. “Stud here calls me Butterfly. That’s Missy,” he points to Finn with a grin, “and that’s Tee with him.”

“Well, those are names, alright,” Jody says. “You kids want a beer?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Puck agrees, turning to follow her inside. “Are you still running the air conditioning?”

“Few hours in the afternoon, turning it off at night. Gotta conserve, but it gets hot in here with all these truckers!”

When the four of them enter the main room behind Jody, the room goes momentarily quiet and everyone turns and stares. Kurt takes a second to look at their little pack of four; he can see why they might draw some attention, considering they do still look like high school students, but they’re decked out in an arsenal. 

“I think we made an entrance, Butterfly,” Kurt whispers to Puck, giggling quietly. 

“See, Stud, some things don’t change,” Puck grins, kissing Kurt’s temple. He looks around the room and finds the owner, sitting at the same table as before. “Hello again,” Puck says with a nod.

“Good to see you boys again,” Fred Winchester responds. “I suppose you found what—or who—you were looking for.”

“We did,” Puck agrees, nodding. “Thought we’d try to load up on supplies one more time before we find our own place to hunker down.” Puck leads them to an empty table near Fred. “But I also thought we’d see about some trades here, if anyone’s interested.”

“What kind of trades?” Fred’s son, Jim, speaks up, looking interested. 

Puck turns to look at Kurt. “Talk to Stud here, I’m going to go get those beers for us,” he says, grinning at Kurt as he stands and walks towards the bar, where Jody’s filling four glasses. 

Jim turns to Kurt. “What sort of things are you looking to trade? And what are you trading for?”

“We’ve got workboots, jeans, some extra gloves and hats, some apples and zucchini,” Kurt lists. “Looking for a CB radio, a pair would be better, more gas. Shelf-stable carbohydrates.”

“Hmm, well, we’ll definitely trade you some of that fresh food for some potato flakes or something, if that’s what you mean,” Jim responds, nodding slowly, then he raises his voice. “Hey, DB! Didn’t you say you wanted a new pair of boots before the winter hit?”

Some of the conversation at one table of truckers stops, and then one of them calls back. “Yeah, why?”

“Stud here’s got boots. You willing to trade your CB for a pair?”

“We have a range of sizes between a men’s 7 and 13,” Kurt calls out. “Insulated work boots, not the pretty kind the bikers wear.”

There’s a ripple of appreciative laughter from around the room, and Puck turns around at the bar to grin at him. 

“Seems like we can work something out,” DB rumbles over the sound.

A large female trucker, who actually reminds Kurt quite a bit of Coach Beiste, stands up at the far end of the table. “We might be able to work something for those apples,” she offers. “Don’t reckon I’ll have much use for a CB radio these days.”

“Excellent,” Kurt says. “Glad to hear that we can do business.” He levels a cold look at the large group of truckers, but continues in his sweetest voice, “And just to be clear, in case anyone has any thoughts about our other supplies, well... Butterfly has a lot of rules, but I only have the one.”

Puck laughs. “I’d listen to this one closely.”

“Don’t. Touch. My. Shit.” Kurt enunciates each word carefully, patting the rifle slung over his shoulder. Some of the truckers seem taken aback, while others just look impressed. Puck walks back over with two of the beers, setting one in front of Kurt and the other in front of his empty chair, before returning with the other two for Tina and Finn. Puck sits down and tugs Kurt sideways until Kurt slides into his lap. 

“After the beer, there’s barbeque chicken for dinner,” Puck says quietly to Kurt, kissing him softly. “Sound good?”

“Hot meal? Yes, it sounds good,” Kurt answers, absently running his thumb over Puck’s cut. 

“They’ve got something else you’ll like even better,” Puck teases. “How about a hot shower, Stud?”

Kurt groans and puts his head back on Puck’s shoulder. “Holy shit, take me there now and fuck me in it.”

Before Puck can answer, Finn pipes up with, “I’m hungry now, Puck. Also, I need to pee.”

“Let’s get you a snack, then, Missy,” Puck answers, “and we’ll take care of that. Tee, you need anything?”

Tina starts to shake her head, then stops. “Some bread would be nice, if they have any.”

“Pretty sure they have some rolls, yep,” Puck answers, then turns towards Fred and Jim. “We’ll go bring in some of that food now.”

“And DB’s boots, if he’ll kindly tell me his size,” Kurt adds. 

DB looks almost embarrassed when he responds. “Nine and a half,” he mutters, just loud enough for Kurt to hear him. Kurt nods politely. 

Puck leads the four of them outside, grabbing the apples, zucchini, and DB’s boots. “Grab some fresh clothes,” he instructs Tina and Finn. Tina pulls up the tarp on the back of Finn’s truck and rifles through the duffel bag, handing clothes to Finn. 

“Want me to get a change for us? And some toiletries?” Kurt asks Puck. 

“Please,” Puck says, leaning over and kissing Kurt slowly. Kurt slides one hand into Puck’s hair and the other around the back of his neck, careful not to knock anything out of Puck’s hands. Puck pulls back with a little grin. “Ready for that shower, Stud?”

“Mmm. I’m going to soap your back for you,” Kurt promises. “And you can wash my hair.”

“Let’s go, then.” Puck falls into step with Kurt, then looks behind him. “Missy, Tee, c’mon!”

Tina and Finn follow them back into Winchesters, Finn’s arms full of clothes and Tina’s hairbrush clutched in his hand. The four of them practically parade through the building and to the back, where the bathrooms with showers are. Tina starts to head towards the women’s restrooms and Puck stops. 

“Where are you going?” Puck asks her. 

“The bathroom?” Tina answers uncertainly. 

Puck rolls his eyes. “In here, Tee. Would you think it was a good plan for one of us to go off by ourselves?”

Kurt grabs her by the hand and pulls her into the bathroom with him. “Besides, if you go in there, who’s going to take care of your hair for you?” 

Tina giggles. “That’s true.”

Puck starts pulling off his clothes, carefully propping his rifle near the door and his pistol on a bench further from the door, stepping out of his pants and turning on one of the faucets. Kurt grabs Tina by the hem of her shirt and starts tugging it up.

“Come on, dirty girl, into the shower!” Kurt laughs. “You, too, Finn!”

“Okay, okay,” Tina giggles again, putting down her weapons as well. While Tina disarms, Kurt unclips his chest harness and undoes his belt, setting them next to Puck’s pistol on the bench, then he pulls off his tank top and tosses it in the same direction as the weapons. 

“Finn, get undressed,” Puck tells him. “Time to get clean!”

Finn slowly starts taking off his clothes, dropping them on the floor where he stands, then Tina turns her back to him and he carefully unhooks her bra for her. When Tina and Finn are both undressed, Kurt takes each of them by a hand and pulls them with him into the hot water.

“That,” Kurt announces, “is the best damn thing I have ever felt.”

Puck narrows his eyes at Kurt. “ _Best_?”

“Second best,” Kurt quickly corrects himself, grinning at Puck. “Distant, distant second.”

“That’s better,” Puck grumbles, pulling Kurt against him. “You said you needed your hair washed?”

“Mmm, yes, I believe I did say that,” Kurt says. He runs one hand down Puck’s back. “And I said I’d wash your back for you.”

“I want to wash something!” Finn says. 

“You can wash Tee’s hair,” Kurt says. “But you have to be very gentle so it doesn’t pull.”

“I can be very gentle,” Finn promises. “Come here, Tee, I’m going to wash your hair gently and then Kurt can make it pretty for you after.”

“Thanks.” Tina looks up and beams at him. “This does feel so good!”

“Can we live in the showers?” Finn asks, as he’s massaging shampoo into Tina’s hair. “We probably couldn’t keep chickens here, but I think it would still be pretty good.”

“There were chickens out back, actually,” Puck answers. “Sad chickens from the processing plant.”

“They’re happy they didn’t get processed, I bet,” Finn says. “They’re probably happy they aren’t zombie chickens, too.”

“We’re _all_ happy they aren’t zombie chickens,” Kurt says. “Very much so.”

Tina laughs. “I shouldn’t laugh, but the idea of zombie chickens!”

“Do chickens even _have_ brains to begin with?” Puck jokes. 

“They’ve come back,” Finn says, in an ominous voice. “They’ve come back to do a little plucking of their own.”

Kurt groans and flings a handful of soapsuds at Finn, who looks startled at first, but then starts to laugh. Tina laughs harder, one hand on the wall, and Finn picks her up in his arms like she’s a baby and sticks her head under the shower spray. Tina splutters, shrieking a little, and then Finn sets her down on her feet.

“And now your hair is clean!” he announces. 

“You know,” Puck says almost too casually as he starts to run his hands through Kurt’s hair, “Nice thing about the shower is, it’s nice and easy to clean up after fucking.”


	17. Chapter 17

Puck’s right, as he usually is. Kurt knows they’ve been noisy, but he doesn’t realize quite how loud until they walk back through the saloon and everyone’s staring at them again. DB claps slowly with a shit-eating grin on his face. Kurt rolls his eyes, then plasters on his most charming smile and gives a little bow. 

“Wave to our admirers, Finn,” Kurt says, and Finn waves in DB’s direction, then gives him a thumbs up. They put their dirty clothes in the Nav and then Kurt picks up a strand of Tina’s wet hair and says, “Okay, we’re staying out here until this is all untangled.”

“Keep your eyes open,” Puck says to Kurt, kissing him again and grabbing a few more of their trade items, plus the things for the little girl. “Finn, help me carry these,” he says, pointing out the hats and gloves for trading. Finn picks them up and then follows Puck back inside Winchesters. 

Tina hands Kurt her brush and he carefully untangles her hair, starting at the end. “Feel better out here?” Kurt asks her.

Tina nods. “I do. I did forget I was inside for a few minutes in the shower, though,” she confesses with a laugh, looking down. 

“It was a very enjoyable shower,” Kurt agrees. “I think I’m going to braid this.” 

“Okay,” Tina agrees. She closes her eyes for a moment, tilting her head towards the sky, then opens them. “Finn keeps saying he wants to live on a houseboat with our chickens. I bet he’ll change it to our non-zombie chickens now, though.”

“Well, those kinds of details are important,” Kurt says. He parts her hair down the middle and starts braiding one side. “But a houseboat? He hasn’t said anything about that to me or Puck.”

“I don’t know if it’s true about these zombies, but I think he remembers some of the movies, that zombies can’t swim or whatever.” Tina smiles a little. “It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? Having a place that the zombies can’t get to, no matter what?”

“I don’t think we could live on a houseboat for good,” Kurt says. “It would be a pretty tight fit and no way to get new supplies. Wouldn’t be a bad emergency plan, though, if we were close enough to the lake.” He finishes the first braid and starts working on the other side. “We could keep it stocked with food and water, just in case.”

“That’s true, too,” Tina says. “A back-up plan sounds good.”

When both sides of Tina’s hair are braided into long pigtails, Kurt picks the braids up and curls them around Tina’s ears. “Should we go for the full Princess Leia, or is this enough?”

Tina giggles. “Full Princess Leia. But I think we’re going to have to rewrite who ends up with who.”

“I think you should ask Finn to do his Chewbacca impression for you,” Kurt says. He pulls out the little packet of bobby pins he grabbed from inside the convenience store, and coils a braid over Tina’s ear, pinning it. “It’s pretty sexy.”

“Sexy and Chewbacca are _not_ words I expect to hear in the same sentence!” Tina admits.

“Well, I think we can agree that a lot of things have happened over these past two weeks that we didn’t expect, and sexy Chewbacca is just the smallest part of it.” Both braids finished, Kurt kisses the top of Tina’s head. “There. Just like a princess.”

Tina grins. “Thanks.”

“Ready to go back in? Make sure our boys aren’t getting into too much trouble without us?”

Tina nods and opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, then shuts it, before finally speaking. “Yes, that’s probably a good plan!”

When they walk back inside, Puck is sitting at the bar with Jim Winchester and two truckers, Finn nowhere in sight. Kurt comes up behind Puck and puts an arm around his waist, whispering, “Where’s Finn?”

Puck turns his face towards Kurt, looking vaguely amused, and then nods his head towards the bar itself. “He’s down behind the bar coloring with Tara.”

Kurt peers over the bar and sure enough, Finn and Jody’s little girl are sitting cross-legged on the floor, coloring. Finn looks up and grins. “Hey, Kurt. Me and Tara are coloring, ‘cause nobody else here will color with her. She won’t let me use any red, though.”

“Butterfly says he can’t have red,” Tara informs Kurt. “Missy’ll get in trouble if he uses the red.”

Kurt nods his head slowly. Puck’s probably right about that one. “Well, Butterfly makes the rules, I’m afraid, so no red for Missy, then.”

Tara nods back and returns her attention to her coloring book, occasionally trading crayons with Finn. Kurt puts his arm around Puck again. 

“So what did we miss?” he asks Puck.

“Full tanks of gas, two CB radios, and potato flakes,” Puck answers. 

“And he was telling us about how many fuckers—excuse me, miss—this young lady can take out,” one of the truckers says, looking at Tina. 

“Our own little merchant of death,” Puck says wryly. 

“Seven today, and fifteen yesterday!” Tina says brightly. 

“She marks it on the dashboard!” Finn calls up from behind the bar. “In blue chalk.”

“It’s true,” Tina nods. 

“Like on a fighter plane?” Kurt asks her. “Charming and sophisticated zombie killer, Tee. I’m very impressed.”

Tina beams at the praise, then turns towards Puck, not quite looking him in the eye. “Can I color with Finn for awhile? Or do you need me to do something?”

“Go ahead,” Puck answers her, gesturing behind the bar. “But no red.”

“No red,” Tina nods. “Got it.” Tina goes around the bar and sits down next to Finn, murmuring quietly to both him and Tara. 

“Looks like we’ll still have some boots left to trade,” Puck says quietly to Kurt. “Can’t hurt, depending on what direction we go.”

Kurt nods and slides into Puck’s lap. “Might meet some people up in Amish country,” he agrees. “Speaking of, Tee mentioned something interesting.”

“Yeah?” Puck’s arm tightens around Kurt’s waist. “About Amish country?”

“Seems like our Missy’s been talking about wanting to live on a boat, like a houseboat. Granted, he also says he wants our chickens to live there with us, but it’s not a bad idea, I didn’t think,” Kurt explains. He leans his head back against Puck’s shoulder. “Not full time, obviously.”

“Hmm. Especially if Zombies really can’t swim,” Puck nods. “But I agree, no chickens on a boat.” He frowns. “I bet they get seasick, anyway.”

“Nothing brings down the tone of one’s zombie apocalypse like chicken vomit,” Kurt says. “Are there farms around the lake? Or maybe on a big river?”

“I’ve still got those maps,” Puck says. “We can look at them later. One of them is Toledo, but there’s the laminated one of Ohio, plus the Ohio atlas or whatever.”

“Doesn’t Tee’s hair look pretty?” Kurt asks, because the trucker Puck was talking to seems a bit too interested in their discussion of farms, and a subject change seems wise. “She’s Princess Tee-a now, I think, and Missy’s her wookie.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, Missy’s a bit like a wookie. Less hairy, though, which is handy, since no more vacuums.”

“He’s having a good day today. The coloring was a good idea.”

“Yeah, it was. Tee doing okay inside today? Staying outside a bit help?”

Kurt nods. “She’s trying. If we can keep getting her outside and the manbaby doesn’t make an appearance for the rest of this trip, I think she’ll keep it together just fine. It’s an odds game, but then, it’s sort of an odds game with all of it, isn’t it?”

“And we keep doing pretty damn well, all things considered.” Puck tilts Kurt’s face towards him with one hand, holding Kurt’s chin and kissing him slowly. “Right?”

“We’ve got _you_ ,” Kurt say simply. “Of course we’re doing pretty damn well.”

Puck grins and kisses Kurt again before releasing Kurt’s chin. “Gonna be ready to find our place, now,” Puck says quietly.

“Take us home, Butterfly,” Kurt answers. Puck’s grin gets a little wider, and the arm around Kurt’s waist pulls Kurt even closer.

“Stud, that is the plan.”

Dinner is the promised barbecued chicken, plus grilled zucchini and corn on the cob, plus a roll for Tina. As everyone in Winchesters sits down to eat, conversation turns to the shifts for that evening’s security. 

“We usually have two people each shift, in two hour shifts,” Fred explains to Puck. “If two of you—”

“Of course,” Puck nods, interrupting him. “Tee and I can take a shift. Midnight to two?”

“No one ever wants that shift,” Fred says, nodding his head. “That’ll work out real well.”

“Gives us a few hours before and a nice long chunk after,” Kurt murmurs. Puck runs his fingers over the outside of Kurt’s thigh and smiles, nodding slightly. Kurt puts his lips against Puck’s ear and says, “All those people on watch? Safest sex ever, if you think you can keep me from being too loud.”

Puck’s smile shifts into a smirk. “I’ll make sure to keep your mouth otherwise occupied, Stud.” He doesn’t make an effort to lower his voice, either. Kurt laughs and kisses the side of Puck’s neck. 

After they eat, they bring in their sleeping bags and some extra ammo, just in case. Puck claims a back corner of the restaurant and they start unrolling the bags, then Kurt and Tina start unzipping them to make two larger pallets.

“Roll up your shirts for a pillow, I guess,” Puck says. “We’ll get some at Costco tomorrow. Pillows, that is.” He pauses. “Maybe shirts too.” 

Finn pulls off his shirt and then starts unbuttoning his pants. Kurt shakes his head and points in Finn’s direction. 

“Shirt off, Finn. Nothing else,” Puck says firmly. “Leave your jeans on.” Finn nods his head slowly and immediately stops unfastening his jeans. “Good.” Puck nods and lies down on one of the pallets.

“Hey, Roberts!” a voice calls out. “Don’t bunk too close to Butterfly’s harem, there. Might keep you awake.”

Puck props himself up on his elbows immediately, glaring at the speaker. “Stud,” he says, voice entirely too pleasant. “Make a note of that jackass, please.” 

Kurt sits up as well and gives the jackass in question a long look. “Noted. I’ll remember him.”

“He might not like trading with us as much as the others,” Puck says, smiling smugly and lying back down, Kurt curling up against him. “And I’m not worried about us being loud. Tara’s not in here, so.” Puck shrugs a little. “They’re just jealous.”

“They should be, anyway,” Kurt agrees, rubbing his face against Puck’s chest. “We’re doing the apocalypse in _style_.”

“Keep talking like that and no one in this room’s going to be able to sleep for awhile.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s their problem, not our problem,” Kurt says. 

Puck grins and runs his hand down Kurt’s back. “In that case, Stud, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Puck nudges Kurt awake at around six; the sun hasn’t risen yet, but the sky is starting to gray. They zip and roll their sleeping bags, pull their shirts back on, and then Kurt shakes Tina awake underneath a sprawled Finn. Soon, all four of them are dressed and their gear is ready to go, and Jim is up and preparing breakfast. They eat eggs (possibly from the sad chickens) and individual containers of yogurt, which apparently isn’t all that popular with the truckers. 

“We’ll be heading out shortly,” Puck says to Jim. “We’ll drop in sometime, depending on where we end up.”

Jim nods. “Good luck.”

Puck grins a little. “That we somehow manage to keep finding.”

They gas the Nav and the truck, then wave goodbye to Jody and Tara, who come outside to see them off. Soon, the two vehicles are shooting straight up 109, which is still nice and clear to 20. Once they turn right on 20, Kurt starts scanning for gas stations, because even though the needle hasn’t dipped far, it’s too far for Puck’s comfort. 

The stop is uneventful, unless Puck finding two more gas cans counts as an event, but as they continue along 20, they start to see more cars than they’d seen on the way out of Toledo a week ago. Some of the cars are loaded with supplies, and the window glass is busted out, the interiors of the cars bloody. Kurt exchanges a look with Puck.

“Made it a week, give or take.” Puck shrugs slightly. “They probably waited too long to leave their houses, and then got desperate. Desperate people take stupid risks.”

“I wonder if they even had guns,” Kurt sighs. “Look at the stuff in the backs of the cars. Luggage. There’s not even any water to speak of.”

“There’s probably people who think as long as water’s coming out of the pipes, it’s safe to drink.” Puck shakes his head. “Mortality rate was probably high but not as high as you’d think, the first week. Half again as many are going to die in the next couple of weeks.”

“But not us,” Kurt says, firmly. “We’re going to be raising chickens and plowing something.”

Puck grins. “Might wait on the plowing until March, though, Stud.”

Kurt shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”

They’re almost to I-475 when a huge swarm pours out from behind the Rite Aid, some of the zombies shambling, but most of them sprinting. Kurt takes a hard right and watches the sideview mirror to make sure Finn makes the turn, too. They drive down King for a while, then cut back over on West Bancroft, rejoining 20 inside 475. 

Kurt shudders as they pass the Wal-Mart. Another swarm churns and bumps around in the parking lot, banging and scratching at the doors. A few stragglers on the edge of the swarm turn in the direction of the Nav and the truck, but both vehicles are well away before the zombies make it to the far side of the parking lot. 

The next leg of their drive is along the metropark, and while Kurt notices some solos or pairs of zombies between the trees, they don’t see another swarm until the metropark ends. Kurt slows the Nav as the shambling stragglers of the largest swarm they’ve seen yet wander down into the Home Depot parking lot. 

“Holy shit.” Puck shakes his head and tightens his hands on his rifle. “There’s hundreds of them, Stud.”

“I hope Finn’s keeping his eyes on the road. Tee, too.” Once the last zombie is well away from the road, Kurt presses down hard on the gas, Finn following suit behind him, and they turn into the Costco parking lot. 

Puck jumps out as soon as the Nav rolls to a stop in front of the main door, unlocking their padlocks, which are still there. He gives Kurt a thumbs up and rolls the door up, gesturing for them to drive in. Once they’re inside, he closes and locks the door behind them.

“Time to load up!” Puck says cheerfully. “But first, morning snack’s down this way.” He grabs Kurt before Kurt’s fully out of the Nav, tugging him towards the candy aisle. 

Finn climbs out of his truck, wild-eyed. “Did you see them? Did you see all of them?”

“We saw them,” Puck answers calmly. “Heading away from us.”

“There were so many of them!” Finn looks nervously back at the door. 

Puck nods a little. “But so much food in here. And blankets and other things.”

“Hey, Finn,” Kurt calls. “I found gummy bears.”

Finn’s attention immediately turns away from the doors and towards the candy aisle. “Oh. Okay, yeah, that sounds pretty great!”

After they glut themselves on candy, they take the remaining roof shells and start attaching them to the truck and the two trailers. Puck seems particularly thrilled about finally having a use for the other shells, and does a variation of his gas can-can, much to Finn and Tina’s amusement. 

“Ooh, look.” Puck waves a pack of Space Bags. “We can use the generator to power one of the vacuums and pack more blankets and pillows!”

“Sweaters, too,” Kurt suggests. 

“Is it worth unpacking the winter gear, do you think?” Puck asks Kurt. 

“I don’t think so. It’s already pretty compact,” Kurt says. “If we run into space issues, we can rethink it, but for now we’ve got plenty of work.”

Puck nods and wrestles one of the floor model vacuums towards the generator. “Technically we shouldn’t run it in here,” he points out, frowning at it. “But if we do them all in one go, it’ll only run for about five minutes or less, and it’s a big room. Right?”

“Nobody breathe too deeply,” Kurt declares. “And please refrain from smoking.”

Puck grins. “Exactly.”

Kurt hadn’t been sure, at first, that the second trailer was necessary, but even vacuuming-bagging the wool and down blankets, sheets, and a lot of the extra clothing doesn’t leave much room, once they add pillows, a charcoal grill, a portable composter, one copy of each of the books Costco carries in stock, and two copies apiece of most of the CDs (one for the Nav, one for the truck), filling in the rest of the space with all the canned, boxed, and bagged food they can cram. 

While they pack, sort, and stow, they eat all the nutritionally void snacks and candy they can eat—they’ve been short on carbs and they aren’t bringing the junk with them anyway—and occasionally have to pull Finn off the scooter he found in the toy section towards the back. Kurt actually gives up on that task after a while, and he and Finn have scooter races between the aisles until Finn gets distracted by a small battery-powered electric drum kit. The next half-hour is considerably noisier, but Finn’s beaming at the rest of them by the time he’s done drumming. 

Tina has Finn help her drag another mattress near the one still remaining from when Kurt and Puck were there previously, and then goes to get a cotton blanket or two. She starts to pick up the crumpled blanket on the floor, then stops for a moment, having to hand the others to Finn.

“Tee, dearest,” Kurt says. “You probably don’t really want to touch that.”

Tina looks at Kurt perplexedly. “Is it a polyester blend?”

“Nooo, it’s... used,” Kurt answers delicately. “We have plenty of clean blankets for tonight, so you can just give that one a kick to the side.”

“Oh!” Tina giggles and pushes it off to the side with her foot. “I’ll go grab a fresh one, then!”

“Good plan,” Kurt mutters quietly, then raises his voice. “Butterfly, let’s go clean out the pharmacy.”

Puck appears at the end of an aisle with a huge smirk. “Look what I found, Stud!” He brings a bottle from behind his back, and Kurt groans when he sees that it’s a huge bottle of Jergens Natural Glow.

“You’re really set on that shiny backside,” Kurt sighs. 

“Firefly, Butterfly,” Puck shrugs, then sets the bottle down on the nearest shelf. “I believe you mentioned prescription medications looking for a new home with us?”

“Right this way,” Kurt says, holding out a hand for Puck. Puck slides his hand into Kurt’s and grins. 

“Hopefully they have more birth control pills for Tee,” Puck says more quietly as they walk towards the pharmacy. “None of us need to be boiling water or whatever.”

**Puck's Rules of Zombie Survival, #19: No babies.**

Things might suck, but they're alive. It's not a world to bring another life into, though, even if they knew shit about birth. It's no world for a kid, and yeah, that sucks too, but Puck knows better than the rest of them what having a kid does to your head and your heart. Too many chances for things to go wrong, another mouth to feed, someone else to protect, and it's way too pragmatic but a kid's not going to be able to kill a zombie until they're at least seven, the way he figures it, and that's seven years of four fighting to protect five. So, no, no babies, no kids, it's just one more thing that the zombies took from them, like it took their friends and their families and their technology.

It’s still dark inside the Costco when Kurt feels Puck sitting bolt upright next to him. “Butterfly?” Kurt asks, his voice heavy with sleep. “Everything okay?”

Puck puts his hand over Kurt’s and squeezes. “I think that swarm is outside, Stud.”

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Kurt sits up, too, listening. He can hear it now, too, the sound that’s vaguely reminiscent of a huge flock of pigeons flapping their wings or a paper bag blowing down the sidewalk on a windy day. Mixed in with the flapping, shuffling sound is the occasional clank and clash of shopping carts bumping together or against a body. “What are we going to do?”

“There’s the back loading bay,” Puck answers. “We can get out that way. But we need to figure out.” He falls silent, clearly thinking. “I don’t like this plan,” he finally says with a heavy sigh. 

“What plan?” Kurt asks quietly. “Butterfly...”

“They could overwhelm us once we get out the loading bay,” Puck says, “unless we can lure them in here. And then.” He shakes his head. “Then we burn them.”

“Lure them _in_?” Kurt grabs Puck’s arm. “What—No. _No._ Somebody would have to open the door.”

“Yeah,” Puck nods. “And we lose any chance of coming back here for more shit.”

“I don’t care about the shit, Butterfly. Who’s opening the door?” Kurt tightens his grip on Puck’s arm. “Who?”

Puck looks at him incredulously. “Who do you think, Stud?” he says quietly. 

“No. No, that— _no_!” Kurt’s volume gradually increases, and Tina stirs on the other mattress. “No, you are not doing that. I am not letting you do that!” He looks over at Finn, sprawled naked on top of Tina, and then back at Puck, a note of hysteria in his voice as he says, “Finn. Finn can do it.”

“Shh.” Puck runs his hand through Kurt’s hair and down his back. “Stud. Listen. I’m the only one that _can_. I promised Finn, remember? And once upon a time, I was a running back. Sprinting. I can do it, okay?”

“No, you promised _me_! Together,” Kurt insists. “You promised me _together_ , not you doing this alone, or leaving _me_ alone.”

Puck leans his forehead against Kurt’s. “And we’re going to do it together. You’re going to leave the door open on the Nav for me and I’ll dive in. And if.” He stops. “To the end of the world, Stud.”

“Finn and Tina will make it out, at least,” Kurt says, nodding. “And either way, we... Together. Like we promised.” He presses his lips against Puck’s, his arms going around Puck’s chest to pull him down. “Need you inside me now,” Kurt says against Puck’s lips. 

“Stud.” Puck runs his thumb over Kurt’s cheek, and presses his lips against the skin after his thumb moves. He reaches over Kurt, then presses slicked fingers against Kurt. “Don’t have much time.”

“Don’t need much time, just need you,” Kurt says. “Please, Butterfly.”

Puck covers Kurt’s mouth with his, his fingers sliding inside in one motion. “Didn’t say no, Stud.” He moves his fingers rapidly and then withdraws them, his cock pushing into Kurt. “We’ll take more time tonight. Got it, Stud?”

Kurt’s fingers dig into Puck’s back and he arches off the mattress, a low noise that’s not quite a whine coming out of him as he bites back a sob. Puck thrusts in hard, his hips almost snapping forward and back. Kurt wraps his legs around Puck’s back, sliding his hand to Puck’s left arm and running his thumb down the cut that’s only starting to heal. 

Puck hisses and wraps his hand around Kurt’s cock, pumping up and down a bit slower than the speed of his thrusts. Kurt cries out and closes his eyes, tears hot against his eyelids. “D’you hear me, Stud? More time _tonight_.”

Kurt nods; he doesn’t have any words left. His thumb brushes over Puck’s arm one more time, then he’s coming, spilling over Puck’s hand. Puck pushes in hard and comes seconds later, collapsing on top of Kurt momentarily. 

“We have to get ready for this, Stud,” Puck says softly as the zombies start to bang on one of the outer walls. “Everything’s packed. You wake up Tee and I’m going to top off the tanks before.” He winces. “Before we start pouring gas around in here.”

Before Puck can sit up, Kurt pulls him in close for another kiss, his tongue pushing through Puck’s lips to briefly touch Puck’s. When Kurt breaks the kiss, he asks, “What about Finn? What if he...”

“His job is to drive the truck out of the loading bay. We have to move fast anyway. We can’t let him think about it. He has one job.” Puck pauses. “I don’t know what else we can do.”

“One job. He can do one job,” Kurt says. “He can do it.”

Puck brings his lips down on Kurt’s almost harshly. “ _We_ can do this. In thirty minutes we’ll be on our way to our farm. Let’s get it done, Stud.” With that, Puck stands, quickly getting dressed and strapping on his weapons before going to the vehicles and starting to refuel them from the gas cans hanging on the roof. 

“Tee,” Kurt say, reaching under Finn to shake Tina’s arm. “Tee, wake up now. Time to get up.”

“Kurt?” Tina sounds confused. “Is it morning already?”

Kurt holds a finger up to his lips. “Listen, okay?” 

Tina stops and then she lets out a little gasp. “What are we going to do?”

“You wanted to kill zombies, right?” Kurt asks. “Wanted to kill as many as you could?”

Tina nods. “How? What do I need to do?”

“We’re going to make them burn, Tee. Get up and get dressed. Get Finn up and dressed, and... I don’t know how, but try to keep him calm,” Kurt says. “This’ll be fun, right? We get to drive out the back, just like in an action movie, and blow up the building behind us!”

“You and I used to skip the action movies,” Tina says wryly. “But burning zombies, I like.”

“Thought you might,” Kurt says. “Now, up and dressed. We need to get ready.” Kurt starts pulling on his clothes, clipping on his chest harness, and holstering his weapons. “Time to be Assholes, Tee.”

“I might need a new piece of chalk!” Tina says brightly, scrambling to her feet and getting dressed. She puts everything in the truck and unsnaps her holster before turning to wake Finn. 

She murmurs quietly in Finn’s ear, and even after Finn’s eyes open, she keeps speaking quietly. Finn nods slowly and starts to sit up, blinking slowly. He looks confused, but as Tina keeps talking to him, he keeps nodding and reaches for his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head. Tina says something else to him, then straightens and walks back to Kurt. 

“Okay. Should I go help Puck?” She looks to the side, where Puck is laying the leftover sheets and cotton blankets end to end in a perimeter around the outside walls.

“Yes, you should help him,” Kurt agrees. “I’ll make sure Finn has what he needs.”

Tina nods and starts to walk towards Puck, smiling momentarily at Finn as she passes him. After Finn’s jeans are on, he turns to Kurt, an expectant look on his face. Kurt throws his arms around Finn and gives him a hug, and when he releases Finn, Finn looks even more confused.

“What’s that for?” Finn asks. 

“I’m really glad we found you, Finn,” Kurt says. “I’m glad we went back to Lima and found you. You’re doing such a good job and I’m really proud of you, okay?” His eyes start to tear up and he wipes them with the back of his hand quickly. 

Finn grins widely. “I’m trying. I’m trying really hard.”

“I know you are,” Kurt agrees. “That’s why... that’s why we think you should have your gun back today. You’re doing such a good job of listening to Puck, and helping us get ready to go to our farm. And your bandana doesn’t look right without the matching gun, right?” Kurt smiles at Finn, who pulls out his pink bandana and ties it on his head, then Kurt gets the Missy gun from the toolbox in the back of the truck. He checks the clip to make sure it’s loaded, then hands it to Finn to holster. “Not at me this time, Finn. Not at Puck or Tina or yourself. You understand?”

Finn nods his head slowly. “I understand.” Kurt turns to walk towards Puck, when Finn grabs him by the wrist. “Kurt? Nobody’s getting eaten. Puck said nobody’s getting eaten and that means nobody is getting eaten.”

Kurt blinks his eyes furiously to stop the tears from falling as he rushes at Finn, kissing him on the forehead, before turning to walk to Puck. When he reaches Puck’s side, he puts a hand on Puck’s back. “I think Finn’s going to be alright. I gave him back his gun.”

Puck nods and wraps one arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “I hate to use the gas this way, but. I’m going to have to soak all of this. Then we’ll move the vehicles to the back.”

“How are we going to light it up?” Kurt asks. “And what do I need to be doing right now?”

“Toss in a molotov. Or, well, a bunch of them.” Puck shrugs. “Glass bottles and rags—weren’t there some washcloths or something over there?”

“I’ll get those and I’ll empty out some bottles. Hey, Tee?” Kurt asks. “You want to go dump out some of that cooking oil all up and down the aisles?”

“Sure!” Tina nods. 

“Leave a clear path from the front to the loading bay,” Puck amends. “At least one.”

Tina pauses mid-stride, looks at the two of them strangely, then continues towards the cooking oil without comment, just a nod of acknowledgment in Puck’s direction. Kurt starts pouring out bottles of wine, filling them with gasoline and then stuffing washcloths into them. Kurt hopes molotov cocktails are a learn-as-you-go craft and that the last ones, at least, will work. He makes six of them, then brings them to Puck. 

“Okay.” Puck takes a deep breath. “Finn, Stud, move the vehicles to the loading bay. Stud, when I whistle, you open those doors. Tee, same whistle, I need cover fire while I open the front doors. You’ve got to actually aim. Can you do that?”

Tina looks a little abashed but nods confidently. “Cover fire, check.”

“As soon as the first door’s two feet off the ground, you get in the truck, and Finn, as soon as Tee’s in the truck, you go out those doors.” Puck hands three of the molotovs to Tina. “Light these and throw them back in once the Nav’s clear. Shoot any Zombies that try to come out the loading bay. Got it?”

“So the Nav comes out once you’re in it?” Tina asks. “You’re just going to run for it?” She looks a little awed. 

“That’s the plan. Stud’ll hit the gas as soon as I hit the seat. I’ll toss the other three in.” 

“What if...” Tina stops herself and shakes her head a little. 

“Stud’ll hit the gas as soon as I hit the seat,” Puck repeats, a little firmer.

“But.” She looks between Kurt and Puck for a moment, then presses her lips together and nods. “Okay. I understand.”

“Tell Finn to gun it,” Kurt says. “Don’t let him look in the rearview, just make him drive.”

Tina nods again and doesn’t say anything else, just gathers her molotovs and puts them inside the truck, reemerging with her rifle in hand. 

“Lighter sitting out?” Puck asks, and Tina nods a third time. “Okay. Time to leave Toledo behind.”

“Let’s go home,” Kurt says, climbing into the Nav. He unsnaps both his shoulder holster and his belt holster, and then cranks the engine. Finn starts the truck, and Kurt follows him slowly to the loading bay door. 

Puck walks up to the front doors, Tina considerably closer to the truck and the Nav, and then a sharp whistle echoes in the store. Finn hops out of the truck, pink gun in hand, and rolls up the loading bay door. Outside, the loading bay is empty, the sky above it dark. Kurt draws his Glock, resting it on the steering wheel. 

A series of shots rings out, and then Tina’s running up to the truck and flinging herself into the passenger seat. As Finn steers out of the Costco, Kurt can hear a loud, repeated whooping that sounds suspiciously like “Come on, you stupid-ass Zombie fuckers!”

Kurt makes sure the truck is clear, then slams the Nav in reverse, shooting backwards into the Costco. “Come on, Butterfly!” Kurt yells. “Come on!” He fires through the open window at the two zombies closest to Puck. 

Puck almost throws himself into the Nav, grabbing the handle near the windshield to pull himself inside. Kurt throws the Nav into drive as Puck lights the rags in the molotovs, and as Kurt hits the gas, Puck throws two of them out the door, slamming it closed. Kurt’s just clearing the loading bay doors when he hears the first explosion behind them. 

Puck tosses the last of the molotovs before Kurt hears the click of the seat belt, and then Puck brings his rifle up, pointing it out the window. “Go, Stud! We got ‘em!”

Kurt peels out of the loading bay as a wall of flame pours from the door. In the rearview mirror, Kurt can vaguely make out shapes in the fire, falling, then his eyes are looking straight ahead again, focusing on Finn’s tail lights as the truck whips out of the Costco parking lot onto Secor, heading North. 

“Are you okay?” Kurt shouts. “Bites, scratches, anything?”

“They didn’t touch me or my clothes, even,” Puck says. “I promise. Told you I could outrun ‘em.”

“Of course you could,” Kurt agrees. He’s laughing and crying, and he holsters the Glock so he can put his hand on Puck’s leg. “You’re my Butterfly. Fucking zombies didn’t stand a chance.”

Puck covers Kurt’s hand with his and squeezes. “Sucks about the Jergens, though.”

“We’ll manage somehow.”

They pass under 475 and then Finn veers into the empty parking lot of a KFC on the right. Kurt pulls up behind them, and Tina hops out of the truck, Finn climbing out after her. 

“Thought we should swap! And find out where we’re heading!” Tina says almost breathlessly. “Also, can I count half of the ones trapped in that fire?”

“A third,” Puck answers her.

“Hey, don’t we have those radio things we can talk on?” Finn asks. “And, there were a _lot_ of zombies back there, guys? Did you see that?”

Puck grins wryly. “Yeah, definitely a lot of Zombies, but they’re all extra-crispy now.” He looks at the KFC sign. “KFZ. They do Zombies right.”

“I forgot about the CBs!” Tina exclaims. “What channel?”

“They’re already set on the right channel, Tee,” Kurt says. “Now, can we get out of here? I’m ready to retire to my farm in the country. Right, Butterfly?”

“Exactly.” Puck grins. “North and then east. After we get over the river, we’ll go along Ohio-2 and see what we find. Eggs for breakfast tomorrow, Stud.”

“Let’s go find some happy chickens!” Finn says, getting back into the truck. Tina climbs in the other side, then Puck and Kurt take their seats in the Nav, leading the way out of the parking lot. The street and neighboring parking lots are all empty, save for the abandoned cars, and when they swing south to cross the river, they still haven’t seen a single zombie. 

After the river, Kurt take a right hand turn, and Puck lets out a strangled gasp. “Stud, _look_.”

Kurt looks to his left and his mouth drops open at the sight of row after row of large, cylindrical tanks, each painted with the green sunburst BP logo. “Butterfly, is that what I think it is?”

Puck looks almost giddy, and he sets his rifle down, squeezing Kurt’s thigh with one hand as he picks up the CB radio with the other. Before he speaks, he meets Kurt’s eyes and his grin gets even wider. 

“Guys,” Puck says into the radio, his eyes never leaving Kurt’s. “There’s been a change of plans. We’re going to make just one more stop.”

**Puck’s Rules of Zombie Survival, #20: Sometimes you have to sacrifice a sure thing for a shot at everything.**

Costco was a bit like a slice of paradise. Full of supplies in bulk, and even if the rotting food stank a bit, eventually they could have cleaned it up or just gotten used to it. It wasn't defensible and it wasn't a place to stay, but it was familiar, there was gasoline nearby (even if they never did get a chance to use it), and it was useful. There were even sentimental reasons to keep the damn thing standing. 

Which is why it was so hard to pour out so much of their precious gasoline, and so hard to throw those molotovs, never mind the fact that Puck was too aware that he could have needed to use the back-up plan. Too much of a chance he would have needed to dart to the lefthand side of the Nav and hope he and Stud made it into that freezer without any company. 

In the end, though, it had to be done, and all of the gasoline and cooking oil and molotov cocktails and planning combined to lure a huge number of Zombies into their fiery grave, at last. 

They’ll probably get bored over the winter. There’s a good chance there’s a Costco near Cleveland.


	18. Epilogue: How They Lived

Whatever Wing Commander Chapman expected from the settlement to the east of the former city of Toledo, the neatly-maintained, walled farm was certainly not it. The gentlemen in Winchester City hadn’t been able to provide many details beyond the direction, a list of the supplies the farm provides, and the instructions to “Ask for Butterfly.”

When he’d asked, “Who’s she?” the entire city hall had erupted into laughter. Wing Commander Chapman is ill at ease about this meeting, and as the helicopter sets down in the clearing beyond the wall, he finds himself double-checking his sidearm. 

Chapman and his men climb out of the helicopter, and two men approach with their own sidearms. One of them has a rifle slung across his back, while the other carries two pistols, and both are dressed identically in black singlets, denims, and boots that could go with Chapman’s own uniform if they were black and polished. The thinner one’s second pistol is in a chest harness, and they each have a hand in front of their belt holsters. 

There’s an ease with which they carry themselves that indicates they aren’t just posturing; Chapman is quite certain that both of the men could draw and shoot as quickly as any of his airmen.

Chapman straightens his posture and clears his throat, then announces, “I’m Wing Commander Chapman of the Royal Air Force, under the command of the European Union.”

The more muscular one snorts and exchanges a grin with the thinner one before answering. “I’m Butterfly, and sometimes I’m just plain under Stud here.”

Behind Chapman, two or three of the airmen start to laugh, and he turns to glare at them before returning his attention to the two men. “So, you’re Butterfly, then. We were recently in Winchester City and were informed of your settlement by the mayor.”

The one who called himself Butterfly nods. “Yeah, Jim’s a good friend. So the EU finally got things cleaned up over here, huh? Bet you’ve found more of us than you expected.”

Chapman nods. “Yes, the survival rate has surpassed our expectations, and I am under orders to render assistance to any survivors.” 

“Yeah?” Butterfly nods. “Well, hmm.” He turns and gestures for Chapman and the others to follow him into the compound. As they walk, Butterfly puts his arm around the other one’s waist. Both the men’s left upper arms have thick, matching scars. Once Butterfly has fastened a lock behind them, he continues speaking. “We do have some corn that needs harvested.” He brightens. “Oranges! You could bring some oranges, and some orange juice, too?” He glances at the other one and grins. “Cheesecake.”

“Missy would probably love some ice cream,” the thinner one says, then adds, almost apologetically, “We ran out of sugar six or seven years back, and the texture just isn’t right with honey, you understand.”

“Of course,” Chapman responds, though he does not, in fact, understand. Based on the communities he had visited since his arrival in the remains of the United States, he had expected to find a small farm here at most, with significantly more people. The mayor of Winchester City hadn’t been specific regarding the number of people living here, but based on the list of goods provided, Chapman had anticipated an outpost of a dozen or more people, likely malnourished and desperate. Instead, the farm is large, but the only people he has seen are this Butterfly and the other man, both of whom are not only _not_ desperate, but seem to be in peak physical health.

Suddenly, a very large naked man comes sprinting from behind a building, running across the field and disappearing behind a tidy row of what appear to be chicken coops. One of the airmen laughs again, and Butterfly turns to glare at Flying Officer Clark. There’s a slight hint of teeth, and Clark stops laughing immediately. 

“Please excuse Finny,” the thinner man says pleasantly. “I’m sure your helicopter set him off. He’ll visit with his chickens for awhile and then we’ll send Tee down after him. I highly suggest you refrain from approaching him.” Something in his tone makes it clear that this is more than a suggestion. “Can we offer you a glass of milk and some honey-oatmeal cookies, Wing Commander?”

Before Chapman can formulate a response, an Asian woman on a horse approaches at a fast trot. She reins the horse to a stop in front of Butterfly and the other man, with the horse’s arse uncomfortably close to Chapman and his airmen. He gestures for them to all take three steps backwards as the woman speaks. 

“You were right about the government eleven years ago, Butterfly,” she bites out, not quite making eye contact with either man in front of her. “Can’t depend on them, even if they don’t appear to be your own government. Own old government, anyway.” 

“I know, Tee. We saw,” Butterfly says quietly. “Go take Buck to the barn,” he says more firmly. “Wash up and get Finny. We’ll have cookies and milk inside.”

The woman, who is apparently just ‘Tee’, nods. “Would you like me to bring up the baskets from the garden? They’re half-full.”

“Yes, you should do that.” Butterfly’s arm moves to the thinner man’s shoulders, pulling him tightly against him. “Make sure Finny washes up.”

Tee nods again and then steers her horse towards the aforementioned barn. Butterfly leads Chapman and the others towards a sturdy-looking farmhouse, and after he and the other man have washed their hands, he gestures for them to do the same. After a nod from Chapman, the airmen line up at the sink and wash their hands in the cold water with a bar of sweet-smelling soap. 

“I’m afraid we’re somewhat short of seating,” the man who isn’t Butterfly—the lack of formal introduction seems, to Chapman, deliberate at this point—explains, gesturing to the wooden table and chairs. “I’m afraid some of your men will need to sit on the floor.”

“They can stand,” Chapman says, forcing a polite smile. 

“The floor’s clean,” Butterfly says, but it doesn’t seem to be a suggestion. He looks pointedly at the floor, then the rest of the airmen. Chapman clears his throat uncomfortably and makes a small gesture to the airmen, who all sink to the floor looking rather mystified. The angry woman from outside enters the farmhouse, leading an exceptionally tall man—presumably the naked fellow from earlier—by the hand. He’s fully clothed now, and takes up the doorway as he follows the woman, Tee, through it. She directs him to a seat, where he stares at Chapman suspiciously. He is, Chapman decides, clearly simple of mind. 

Butterfly starts putting cookies on plates and filling glasses with milk, setting two plates and two glasses down first, in front of the thinner man. After the other two residents of the compound have been served, a plate and glass are placed in front of Chapman. Butterfly stops then, assessing the rest of them for about fifteen seconds before proceeding to serve them—in rank order. Once everyone has been served, the thinner man stands, Butterfly sits down, and the thinner man settles himself on Butterfly’s lap, as if this is all quite natural. 

“How many residents does this settlement have?” Chapman asks, making no move to eat the cookies plated in front of him. 

“All four of us,” Butterfly says, then pointedly picks up his cookie, dips it in the milk, and takes a bite. The thinner man and Tee follow suit, but the large one, Finny, continues looking between Chapman and the milk with distrust. Butterfly’s... partner, perhaps is what Chapman should call him, pats Finny on the arm gently.

“It’s okay, Finny. There’s nothing in your drink. Have your snack now,” he says. 

“There’s poison,” Finn mutters, in a small, soft voice that doesn’t seem to match his size. “There’s poison in it to make me sleep.”

“I poured the milk,” Butterfly says calmly. “And I’ve been watching it since I poured it. No one’s added anything to it, Finny.”

“See, sweetheart?” Butterfly’s partner says, still stroking Finny’s arm. “Everything’s good. You can eat your snack and then go have a rest, then you’ll feel so much better. We’ll make the helicopter go away so it won’t be noisy anymore, too.” He gives Chapman a stony look as he says this.

Finny seems to relax, and he picks up his cookie and begins eating it slowly, without looking back in the direction of Chapman or his men. 

“So you’ve been in most of Ohio?” Butterfly asks Chapman, picking up his second cookie. 

Chapman nods sharply. “We started in the wreckage of Cincinnati, and have been gradually working our way northward. We found very little between Cincinnati and the former site of Columbus, but the western half of the state has yielded several settlements.”

Butterfly’s jaw clenches at the mention of Columbus, and his partner’s eyes narrow. Even Tee and Finny pause in their eating, Finny giving Tee a look that appears anxious. Clearly, Columbus is not a topic for discussion in this settlement. 

“What about the cities along I-75?” Butterfly asks. “Dayton, Lima, Bowling Green?” It’s clear he’s interested in one of those, but his inflection doesn’t change. 

“Dayton still has a sizeable population of infected,” Chapman begins, and Butterfly snorts once before Chapman continues. “We’re working to clear it, though it’s likely to be bit of a process. These infected are by and large faster than those we’ve encountered elsewhere.”

“Eatens,” Butterfly nods. “Makes sense.”

“The Eatens survive the cold better,” Butterfly’s partner explains, and Chapman nods.

“Bowling Green is unpopulated. We’ve found no survivors and no infected.” Chapman and Squadron Leader Davies exchange a look before Chapman continues, “But Lima is... an interesting situation.”

“Interesting how?” Butterfly’s partner asks mildly. He rests one hand on the back of Finny’s hand and the other on Butterfly’s arm. 

“When we entered the town, we found the streets completely cleared of bodies and auto wreckage. Much of the town is overgrown, but some buildings have been maintained, and,” Chapman pauses. “When we set the helicopter down in the stadium, we were met by a well-organized militia group, led by a woman named Sylvester.”

Butterfly slowly grins, and then he starts to laugh. “That woman _would_ organize a militia.” Butterfly’s partner puts his hand to his mouth, hiding a smile, and shakes his head. Tee ducks her head and giggles. Finny just continues eating his cookies.

“You know this Sylvester woman?” Chapman asks, surprised. 

“We did,” Butterfly answers for them. “Before.” He looks at Tee as she finishes her cookies. “Take Finny upstairs for a rest,” he commands.

“Maybe Missy will be able to join us later,” Butterfly’s partner adds. “After everyone’s gone.”

Tee nods and takes Finny’s hand, whispering softly to him until he rises from his chair and follows her upstairs. Neither of them look back or make any gesture towards Chapman or the other airmen. Chapman watches them walk up the stairs, and when he turns his head back towards the table, Butterfly’s glaring again, holding onto his partner’s hand. 

“Think it’s time for our visitors to leave, Stud,” Butterfly says conversationally. “Can you get a piece of paper so we can give them our list?” Butterfly’s partner, who is apparently named ‘Stud’ of all things, stands and quickly retrieves a sheet of paper and a pencil, then sits again and looks at Butterfly expectantly. 

“Cheesecake, oranges, orange juice, ice cream,” Butterfly lists off, then pauses. “Snickers for Tee. Birth control pills—whichever kind it was she liked the best. Lube. The Nav need any parts?”

“New serpentine belt,” Stud says. “The last few we found were starting to dry-rot.”

“Right.” Butterfly nods. “And I guess if you’re hooking the grid back up, we’d appreciate being on the list. The generator runs fine, but it’d be nice to save the gas.” He grins at Stud. “We could get a gas-powered tractor!”

“Give the Jaspers a rest,” Stud says with a grin, then adds. “Vanilla-brown sugar body wash. And some jelly beans, the good ones.”

“Anyone set up Jelly Bellies outside the US?” Butterfly asks, standing as he speaks. “Actually, is the EU in charge now?” He frowns.

“Of the United States?” Chapman asks, trying to get his bearings after the rapid-fire, and admittedly somewhat uncomfortable, list. “The EU has been aiding your government in exile for these past eleven years.”

“Government in exile, huh?” Butterfly nods. “So we have a President? Did Obama make it out?”

“Yes, your president, vice president, and much of the cabinet were evacuated and quarantined within two hours of the first reported infection,” Chapman reports. “Your elections were, understandably, deferred. By 2016, an interim Senate was established, and presidential elections were reinstituted in 2020. Your government is invested in the re-enfranchisement of its domestic citizenry.”

“Quite a long non-answer there, Wing Commander,” Stud notes, raising an eyebrow and looking amused. 

“So does that mean Clooney finally got to be president?” Butterfly asks, grinning. 

Chapman blinks and shakes his head slightly. “No, Interim Senator Clooney has not run for president.”

Butterfly laughs. “Interim Senator. Awesome. Who _is_ the president, then?”

“President Newsom, formerly of the state of California,” Chapman says. “He was something of a hero during the initial outbreak.”

“Gavin Newsom, the Lieutenant Governor of California?” Stud asks. “That is... interesting.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Butterfly asks, turning to look at Stud.

“Good for _us_ interesting. I’ll explain more after.” Stud tips his head slightly in Chapman’s direction.

Butterfly nods once and then looks back at Chapman. “So we should expect to see EU presence when we’re out?” he asks, standing.

“EU and American military, especially in the vicinity of the Interstate 75 corridor,” Chapman says. “We’re assigning liaisons to any permanent settlement where the occupants do not wish to be evacuated or relocated.” He gives Butterfly a calculating look, and adds, “I assume that includes you.”

“Why would we want to leave?” Butterfly responds with a slight nod. 

“I can’t imagine,” Chapman mutters under his breath. He stands, and the other airmen quickly rise to their feet. “Then you’ll be hearing from your liaison within the next two weeks, if all goes according to plan. We’ll be sure that he or she gets your list.” Chapman holds his hand out for the list, and Stud places it in his hand. 

Butterfly wraps his arm around Stud’s shoulders again and walks to the door, seemingly expecting Chapman and the rest to follow, which they do. Butterfly leads them back across the compound and out the locked gate to the helicopter. “Have the liaison arrive via the roads. There are two or three routes clear between here and Winchester City, as well as two routes towards Cleveland,” Butterfly says, and it is clearly an order, not a request. 

“I’ll do my best,” Chapman promises. “Gentlemen,” he adds, with another sharp nod, then he and his airmen climb back into the helicopter. Butterfly and Stud remain by the gate until the helicopter passes over the compound and the two men are no longer within Chapman’s line of sight; Chapman is willing to hazard they remain there until the helicopter is well away. 

“Davies,” Chapman instructs, as the helicopter turns southward. “Make a note: no helicopters next time.” He pauses and shakes his head slightly. “And see that they’re assigned an _American_ liaison.”


End file.
